A Whole New Ball Game
by amythis
Summary: In 1979, newlyweds Tony and Angela have to rethink the future. Sequel to "Stays in Vegas."
1. Home

I keep thinking the word "home," and I don't mean home plate. There were only two runs scored yesterday, neither by me. The game was suspended in the top of the 11th, a tie score of two and two. We'll finish up next time the Expos are in town, in a month.

I just wanted to get back to New York. We're playing the Mets this weekend, but this year I won't sleep at home in Brooklyn. I'll be home in Fairfield.

It still hasn't sunk in, after all these months, that a guy like me is living in Connecticut. I still love Brooklyn, but I fell in love with a New Englander. Her colonial house is now mine, too. And for four months, during the off-season, I took care of the house, and her. And her little boy.

It's been over a month since I've been home, almost a month and a half. If I played for the Mets, it wouldn't be so bad. But it was the St. Louis Cardinals that recruited me a few years ago. So Busch Stadium is my professional home. And this is the first time this season that I'll be even close to the area of Fairfield. It's been the Midwest and South mostly so far. Maybe when we play in California in a couple weeks, Angela and the kids could fly out and we could all go to Disneyland. Yeah, Sam will still be in school, but it's kindergarten. I think they could let her have the time off.

I think about all this on the flight to Kennedy and then in the taxi to Fairfield. (The cabbie is a nice young college student by the name of John. He's a newlywed, too, and hasn't been driving a cab that long, although he's already thinking of quitting.)

Then I am really finally home. The white picket fence, the oak tree, the columns on the porch. And inside are the people I love most.

I didn't tell them I was coming home. They think I'm staying over in New York. Angela will bring the kids to see the games tomorrow and Sunday. I wanted to surprise them. I timed this just right, so that Angela will have been home from work for maybe fifteen minutes.

She's one of the vice-presidents at Wallace and McQuade, the fourteenth largest advertising agency in the country. I'm very proud of her, but it has been an adjustment for me, being married to a career woman. My first wife, Marie, was a stay-at-home mom, and she would always be waiting for me when I was on the road. She said once that she got kind of bored sometimes and was thinking of taking an art class, but I told her that was silly when she should be home taking care of Sam. I feel kind of bad about that now, especially because of how she died, and how she suffered before she died.

I want to do a better job with Angela, give her more freedom to be herself. And the weird thing is, I mean weird for somebody from my neighborhood, I actually like that Angela has a life outside of mine. She's never bored, and I don't think I'll ever get bored with her. She's too full of surprises.

Like the fact that she's not actually home.

"Daddy!"

"Tony, Tony!"

"Mr. Micelli, what are you doing home?"

"Uh, I live here, Adelaide."

Adelaide Brubaker is our housekeeper. Someone had to take over when I left for Spring training. She looks like a human apple doll, with her white hair in a bun. She's much more grandmotherly than Angela's mother, Mona. The kids like her and she's a pretty good cook. I feel kind of territorial about the house but she's nonthreatening of course.

"Daddy's home!" Sam exclaims, and I think of the old song. But I'm not home to stay, not till the season's over.

"Daddy!" Jonathan squeals.

"He's not—" Sam begins.

I shake my head and she stops. I haven't adopted Jonathan and of course his father is still alive. But I think of myself as more his father than Michael is. Jonathan is only three and I wonder sometimes if he can remember a time before we met.

The kids rush me and I scoop them up into my arms. Homecoming is so sweet. But.

"Where's Angela?"

"Mrs. Micelli called and said she's working late. I'm sure if she'd known you were coming home—"

"Well, I wanted it to be a surprise."

"It is. But a nice one."

"Thanks."

"I'll go put out an extra plate."

 _Home plate_ , I think.

The kids and I catch up till and then during dinner. Jonathan has a bigger vocabulary than when we met seven months ago, but Sam still dominates the conversation. Sometimes Angela and I joke that Sam will be a TV reporter or similar when she grows up.

I love seeing the kids, and it's nice to see Adelaide, too, although I don't know her well of course. But this doesn't feel like home without Angela. I wonder if it felt like home to her without me.

Dinner is fine, maybe not as good as my cooking, but not bad. I wonder if I can make pancakes for everyone tomorrow morning. The game's not till around 2, although of course I'd have to get down to Shea Stadium ahead of time.

The kids are excited about seeing me play this weekend. Well, Jonathan doesn't really understand, but Sam's enthusiasm is contagious.

After dinner, Sam insists that the three of us go outside and play baseball. I keep it simple since Jonathan is so little. He can't even lift Sam's Nerf bat. But he can catch, kind of. The main thing is we have fun. But I can't help thinking that maybe someday I can coach their Little League teams. Well, maybe not, since I'll be on the road for years to come. But maybe for the next kid.

Angela and I have talked about it and we decided we'll wait till New Year's Eve for her to go off the Pill. (She switched from the diaphragm because the Pill allows for more spontaneous sex.) It started as a joke, that we'd hold off on kids together till the '80s, but it really does seem to be the best timing. Jonathan would be at least four by the time she'd have the baby, and Sam would be eight. And if it takes a few months or even years, well, we'll definitely have fun trying.

Jonathan has just caught a meatball I threw, when Angela's black Jaguar pulls up and Mona honks in greeting. Angela barely waits for the car to stop before she flings herself out and into my arms. This is home, this is home.

"Tony! You're home!"

"Hey, Baby, I wasn't gonna miss your birthday weekend." The birthday is just a coincidence. But she is turning 29 on Sunday. I wish we could do something special, but I'm gonna have to be in Philadelphia Monday. Well, we'll celebrate a little early.

"Hey, Stranger, how are you?"

"Good, Mone. You?"

"Perfect as always."

I chuckle and then I hug her, too. And everyone's hugging everyone and this is my family. Well, I wish Pop was here, too, but he's coming to the games of course. He never misses when I'm at Shea.

Mona can't stay since she's got a date, but she will be at the games. We stay goodnight to her and then Angela and I put the kids to bed. I've missed that, too.

Adelaide is downstairs, watching _Supertrain_. Hey, whatever makes her happy.

She's a live-in. Angela never had live-in housekeepers before me. So Adelaide's in my old room, well, the bedroom I had in October and November. Angela and I waited till our last wedding before I moved into her room. Um, yeah, we got married in Las Vegas, back in September, but most people don't know that. There was some innocent bigamy going on, but that's all straightened out now and I've been her only husband for almost six months.

In our bedroom, Angela lights candles and I put the tape player on low. We don't have much time to set the atmosphere but then we don't need much atmosphere. All I really need is her.

And, yeah, we could spend the rest of the night catching up, but it's not like I haven't been calling home. We both want to do what we can't do over the phone.

She's still in her work clothes, except for the high heels she took off when we all got upstairs. She dresses so modestly for work, but not mousy. She's told me she tries to convey an image of professionalism and authority. She can't be too feminine, because that would be distracting, but she can't be too masculine either, because then she'd be criticized for that. I'm lucky I guess, I just wear my jersey for work and there's no problems with me looking distractingly masculine.

I'm in a jacket but no tie, the way Coach likes us to travel in public during the season. You know, nice and approachable, but not sloppy.

I take off my shoes and socks, and then we slow-dance barefoot to oldies. It feels so good to hold her again, move with her again. Yes, we want a more intimate version, but we've both missed this, too.

After awhile, we take off each other's jackets, hers perfectly matching her blouse, skirt, and this sort of not-a-scarf-not-a-tie thing. Then she nestles back against me and we sway some more.

We start kissing and slowly unbuttoning, unhooking, and unzipping each other, letting clothes fall in one spot and dancing away from them. I resist the urge to tidy up.

But I don't resist the urge to guide her towards the bed when we're down to our underwear.

"I've missed this bed," I say as we lie down.  
"It's missed you."

She eases down my boxers and holds me.

"And what have you missed, Angie?"

She blushes but manages to tease, "The thing that misses me most."

Well, my eyes, ears, mouth, brain, and heart have missed her, too, but this part is the most obvious about what it wants and needs.

I ease down her panties and ask, "Have you missed me?"

"See for yourself."

I move one hand between her legs. "Mmm, yes, I think you have."

"Oh, Tony," she whispers in my ear.

We were really loud the first few times we were together, but those were in hotels. We've had to train ourselves to be quiet for sex at home. But then, it's not like we're new to the sexually active parent roles. We were just rusty, me more than her actually, because I was having sex on the road during the Spring and Summer, while she last had Michael in this bed in August.

Yeah, it's a little weird following in another guy's footsteps, so to speak. I mean, not that I'm used to virgins or anything, but I'd never been with a widow or divorcée before her. And she's, mostly through no fault of her own, a double divorcée. It would've been triple if we hadn't hit it off so well.

Anyway, we've done what we can to make this feel like my bed more than Michael's. And as she's pointed out, it's not like he was home all that much. An absence of a month or so would've been nothing to him. How he could stand to be away from this beautiful, desirable, secretly volcanic woman for months at a time is beyond me.

I want to be in her so bad, so much, but I have to make it just right, give her some pleasure now, just enough to make her want more. I don't get guys who don't do foreplay. Not just that it's selfish, but it's not like you don't benefit if you make a woman feel good. You can just do what my teammate Davey calls "the old Hand Solo" if you're just in it for you.

Besides, I love Angela. I am crazy about my wife! And this is the best way to show her that.

She keeps quietly sighing my name and gasping, "More!" Until finally she moves me into her and then we move together, and it's so good, so good, the best!

"Welcome home, Tony," she teases, doing this hip-roll that I have never encountered before and still haven't gotten over after six months.

"It's good to be home," I tease back, entering "the front door" again and again.

And I wish I could do this all weekend, but New York is my home, too, and I've got a responsibility to go back, even if it's as part of the visiting team.


	2. Stealing Third

As we make our way to our seats, some of the people in blue and orange boo our red and white clothes.

"They wouldn't harm the children, would they?" I ask, holding Jonathan more protectively.

"You want me to lift my shirt and flash them as a distraction?" Mother offers.

"No!" I exclaim as Matty says, "Great idea!"

"Aah, they're New Yorkers. They won't hurt us," Sam says, her accent suddenly thickening after seven months of Connecticut softening.

I didn't have to worry yesterday. We had box seats. But with such a big group (five rather than the two Tony invited last year), we could only get them for one day.

Sam seems to be right though. The booing is good-natured, in that New York way. I'm just not used to sports fans. Actually, this is only the third sports event I've ever attended, and Tony's charity game didn't really count because it was such a small, select audience, paying high prices for tickets. (Wives and girlfriends got in free, and I was sort of both.)

When we sit down, I think of how the Beatles played here fourteen years ago. I saw a little of it on television and wished I were there, but I was very unadventurous at 15 and had no best friend to make me take that chance of going into the city and squealing my head off with a zillion other teenagers.

God, I can't believe I'm 29! How did I get to be so old so quickly? Next year is 30. I know, it's not really old, and Mother is still youthful at 47, but sometimes I still feel like an awkward teenager. Shouldn't I be more poised at 29? More sure of myself and my life?

Oh, not that my life is bad. It's wonderful really, much better than it was a year ago. I have a great family and I'm a vice-president at a large ad agency. It's just sometimes there are days when I wonder if I've taken on too much.

I envy Tony. He has so few doubts. He loves baseball and he's good at it, and even when he's under pressure, he handles it, yes, gracefully but also with patience and humor. OK, sometimes he loses his temper, but apparently not often on the baseball field.

My mind wanders as the game progresses. And I have to get out of my seat a couple times because of my tiny bladder. Also, well, I'm doing my best not to think about how Tony woke me up with birthday kisses everywhere, and I do mean everywhere.

"Was that twenty-nine and one to grow on yet?" he asked at one point.

"I'm sorry, I can't do math right now," I replied.

"I'll keep going then." And he did.

He's apologized more than once for not being able to spend more of my birthday weekend with me, but I wasn't really expecting to see much of him, so every moment, especially the moments alone, is a treasure.

His suggestion that we go to California in a couple weeks is tempting but I can't see getting the time off that soon. Maybe when the Cards return there in late August. We had such a lovely time in California on our two visits last Fall, although this would be more of a family trip of course.

Both yesterday and today, I can't really follow the finer points of the game, but I can tell generally how it's going. They won yesterday, 9 to 4, which explains some of the booing of course. It's tied now, 7 to 7, going into what Matty tells me is the top of the ninth.

Tony steps up to bat and we all cheer him on. Well, our little Bower-Micelli enclave of red and white does. Even at this distance, I can see how good he looks in his uniform. He's definitely the handsomest player out there. I didn't marry him for his looks, but they certainly don't hurt.

He misses the first pitch. Strike one. But then he hits the next pitch, a good hit. We all cheer and we don't care who's booing. Well, Jonathan doesn't understand much more of the game than I do, but he's caught up in the spirit.

Tony goes to first base and then second. I can see his grizzled old coach signaling to him.

"What's he saying?" I ask.

"Steal third," Matty says, "but I don't know if it's worth chancing."

"Yes, but they're tied," Mother says.

And then one of the outfielders gets the ball and tosses it to I think a short stop (the guy between second and third base), just as Tony runs from second to third.

"Slide, Daddy, slide!" Sam urges, although I'm sure he can't hear her in this crowd.

And Tony slides into third, trying not to get tagged by the short stop. And then, and then.

"Daddy!" Sam gasps.

It takes a moment to sink in what's happening. Tony is hurt. Tony. Is. Hurt. TONY IS HURT!

Part of me wants to run down to the field and help him. And part of me is frozen with shock.

"Tony?" Jonathan says, his shaky, little voice almost lost in the uproar of the crowd. I hug him close to me.

It's a blur after that. People are talking to me. Not just the family, but the people around me, suddenly turned sympathetic once they understand I'm his wife. But I don't need their help. Tony needs help. He's not moving. Dammit, he's not moving!

There's a stretcher on the field. I try to focus on what the announcer is saying, but he sounds just as confused as I am. They're carrying Tony away.

"I have to be with him!"

"Yes, Dear, you will be," Mother says, taking Jonathan from me.

The crowd makes way for us, Mother and Matty each carrying their own grandchild.

A gravelly voice tells me, "He'll be OK, Angie. Us Pitkin Avenue boys are tough."

I blink. It's his friend Philly Fingers. I recognize some of his other friends from Brooklyn. I didn't know they'd be here, but it makes sense that they would be. They look worried but like they're trying not to show it.

When we get down to the field, Matty passes Sam to me. "Everybody, wait here."

"Is Daddy OK?"

I can't lie to her. "I don't know. But your grandpa's going to find out."

"Tony!" Jonathan sobs. I'm sure he has no idea what's going on but he must be frightened by all this. I want to cry, too, but I have to be strong for the children.

Matty goes to the dugout to talk to the coach. I feel like if I went, I'd yell at the coach for telling Tony to steal third. Matty is so mild-mannered. I think Tony's temper comes from the other side of the family, because from his stories, his paternal grandfather was a gentle soul, too.

But I hate that Matty has to do this, ask about his son's injury. I wish I could spare him this.

"Dear, it might not have been as bad as it looked from the stands."  
I nod, wanting to believe her. I stroke Sam's hair, trying to soothe her, while Mother does her best to calm down poor little Jonathan.

Matty returns to us after what feels like hours. "They've taken him to New York Presbyterian."

"But he's Catholic!" Sam sobs.

I want to laugh, but I just kiss her cheek.

"Matty, you take the kids to Brooklyn. I'll go with Angela to the hospital."

"No, I want to see Daddy!"

"Tony, Tony!" Jonathan demands.

"They probably won't allow children in the hospital," Mother says.  
"Nuh uh. Babies are born in hospitals!" Sam points out.

"Then you're too old," Mother says, to Sam's confusion.

"Your dad won't be in there that long. Come home with me and we'll play stick—We'll go bowling."

"Even Jonathan?"

"He can keep score."

Sam finds this hilarious, although her laughter has a hysterical edge to it.

We make our way out to the parking lot. I hug and kiss the kids goodbye and promise to bring Tony home as soon as I can. Then Matty loads them into Tony's van and he drives off.

"Car keys, Dear?"

"I'll drive."  
"The hell you will!"

She's right. I surrender the keys to my Jag, even though Mother is a terrible driver in the city. The way I feel right now, I probably couldn't even get us out of the parking lot.


	3. Second Thoughts

We lost. The Mets scored another run in the bottom of the 9th. I wasn't there to see it of course, but Davey and Mike told me later.

"We don't blame you, Tony," Davey said when they called.

"Gee, thanks."

"Do you blame Coach?" Mike asked.

"Nah, I would've gone for it anyway."

It's true. I'm in a hell of a lot of pain (although doped up, so I'm not feeling much of it), and I've ripped up my shoulder, but it was my choice to try for third base. It's part of the game, right?

"Your wife is here to see you, Sir," the nurse says now.

"Please send her in."

The nurse leaves and then a moment later Angela comes in. I can see she's been crying, although she's got an expression on her face like she's trying to be brave for me.

"Tony," she whispers.

"Come here, Baby."

She does and takes my hand, my right hand, since it's my left shoulder that's injured. "How do you feel?"

I want to shrug but I can't. "I'm OK, considering."

"Yes."

"How are you? How are the kids?"

"I'm all right. The kids want you to come home."

"I want to be with them. I wish they could visit, but I think it's against the rules. And anyway, I don't want them to see me like this."  
"Yes."

"Maybe when I can stand up, I could wave to them from the window."

"I think they'd like that."

"I'm sorry I ruined your birthday."

"Oh, Tony, don't think like that!"

"Well, I'm sure it didn't improve it."

She squeezes my hand. "I'm just glad the injury wasn't worse."

I look into her eyes and I realize for the first time that she thought I might die. From sliding into third. I want to tell her that's crazy, that couldn't happen. But I just squeeze back.

"Um, Tony, I have to tell you, they're continuing the season without you."

I nod and swallow. "Yeah, Davey and Mike told me. They don't have a choice, really. They can't wait for me to heal." The doctor said it'll be months. "I guess I'll have to miss the whole season." This is May. The season ends in September.

"Yes," she says quietly again, but this time there's something different about it.

"What?"

"I asked the doctor and he said, well, he said you might never play again."

"Oh." I guess I kind of knew that, on some level. My shoulder's really messed up. Even when I heal, I may not have the flexibility I did before. "But he said 'might,' right? I maybe could."

"Yes, maybe."

I don't want to think about what I'll do if I can't play anymore. I don't really know how to do anything else. Baseball has been the biggest thing in my life since I was Sam's age, or younger.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."

"It's OK. So have the Cardinals officially dumped me?"

"You've been replaced."

"Yeah, the guys told me."

"But I don't know if it's permanent or not. They may be waiting to see how you heal."

"Yeah."

"Don't worry about that right now. Just concentrate on getting better for your own sake."

I squeeze her hand again. "And yours and the kids'."

"Yes."

I think of our plans to have a baby. It could still happen. By New Year's, I'll be all better. But what if I don't have a job? I know, I'm getting ahead of myself. But all I know is my life has changed and I'm not sure how much.

"Tell me about your work. What's happening at the agency?"

So she fills me in on that. I know about her accounts and the rivalries, between agencies and within her own.

"Peterson is still a jerk," I observe.

"Yes. I feel like he's waiting for me to fail."

"Hey, you're not missing too much work because of me, are you?"

"It's fine, Tony. Don't worry about that."

This is my workaholic wife. It's good to know I count more than her job, but I don't think it'd do us any favors if she got fired, too.

"Tell me about the kids. What are they up to?"

"Well, Sam's got mixed feelings about school letting out soon. She loves her teacher and drawing and reading and all of it. But she's got a lot of plans for the summer."

"Plans?"

"Yes, playing with Marci and going places with you. She knows you'll be staying home for awhile. You won't be on the road this year."

I think of how I was never around much during the summer, sometimes even missing Sam's birthday in August. "Yeah."

"I explained to her that you'll need to rest, but I'm not sure she understands."

"I can still play catch when I heal enough. And we'll bake cookies when it's not too hot."

She smiles. "Yes."

"That's still my kitchen, you know." Adelaide "let" me make pancakes on Angela's birthday weekend, but she kept hovering and offering advice.

"Yes, of course."

"Tell me about Jonathan."

She smiles more. "He's becoming fascinated by dinosaurs, dragons, and snakes."

"Uh, OK." I guess I liked dinosaurs at his age. I don't know about the dragons and snakes.

"Mother and I have been reading to him more. As a, as a distraction."

"Oh." Poor little boy. This must be a confusing time for him. Here's this guy who's sort of like his dad and the guy gets hurt, and the boy doesn't really understand. When Sam lost Marie last year, she was 5. And I was 7 when I lost my mom. Too young, too young, but at least we sort of understood. I understand Angela's fear better now. "Baby, I'm not going anywhere, you know."

"Yes, I know."  
"I'm gonna live to be a decrepit, old man."

She laughs. "You will never be decrepit. You will always be perfect."

I feel like crying. "Well, I've got a scar now. I don't have the perfect Michelangelo body anymore," I joke.

"You will always be perfect to me, scars and all." She leans over and kisses my cheek.

"So will you," I say. Well, her scars are mostly emotional, all the rejection she faced growing up. And the pain of her marriage to Michael. Yeah, I've got some emotional scars, too, although I try to be positive, embrace life, help her embrace it.

"I shouldn't stay too long. You still need some rest."

I nod.

She kisses me softly on the lips and then she's gone. I try to sleep but I keep going over everything in my head. I'm 27. I thought I'd be playing for another ten or fifteen years, maybe even longer. I mean, look at Satchel Paige, 38 years, 27 full seasons. He was almost 60 when he retired. Not that I expected to go that long. Hell, Sam would be almost 40 by then. I could be coaching my grandson's Little League team!

I know, I know, things may not be over for me. But what if they are? Will it be back to being Angela's housekeeper again? That's not the kind of life I want. I mean, yeah, I enjoyed it when I didn't have to do it. But what options do I have now? I have just a high school education and it's not like I have any work experience that would translate to another field.

Yes, Angela could support all of us, but I was not raised to live off my wife. I can kind of accept that she makes more money than I do, but I like knowing I contribute. What am I gonna do? Be a bartender?

I know, I need to just think about healing, be positive. But I wish this hadn't happened.

I try to imagine what would've happened if I'd stayed on second, hadn't tried to stretch the double into a triple. Maybe I would've made it to home plate when Lou Brock came up to bat next. Maybe the Mets wouldn't have scored in the bottom of the 9th. Maybe we'd have won.

Maybe I wouldn't be lying here now, in pain, in the hospital, wondering what's going to happen to my future. I would be on the road, thinking about the next time I could see my family again. Maybe at Disneyland.

Well, maybe we can go to Disney World when I'm well enough. I won't go on any rides where I want to throw my arms in the air. It's a Small World is about my speed at the moment. Maybe I can work up to the Tea Cups by the end of the summer.

I hope the nurse comes by with more pain-killers soon. I've never been into drugs, but I would love all my pain to be killed right now.


	4. First Night Back

Tony's coming home. I kept thinking those words all day at work. Maybe it sounds silly, but I wish I could cook. I'd love to make a welcome home feast for him. As it is, I gave Adelaide a list of Tony's favorites. Her Italian cooking isn't as good as Tony's of course, but it is better than most of my housekeepers'.

It's been a help having her at home, especially these last few weeks. She saw the game on television and told me later that she couldn't believe her eyes. She wished she'd been there to help.

I'm glad I had Mother and Matty with me. I don't know how I would've managed that day without them, or since.

The kids are doing OK, but every day they've asked when Tony's coming home. It was so nice to tell them last night, "Tomorrow!" They ran around the living room and screamed happily. They wanted to come with me to New York, but that just wasn't practical. Adelaide told them she needed them at home to help with the WELCOME HOME banner. Never mind that Jonathan can barely scribble. (And it's not that many months since he was eating crayons.)

I take a cab to the hospital after work. I have the cabbie wait for me, since he'll be taking us to Fairfield. I don't want Tony to have to deal with getting jostled on the train. I don't care about the expense. I want to take care of Tony.

I know it's selfish, and of course I wish he hadn't been hurt, but part of me is glad that he's coming home, that he's not going out on the road. I got so spoiled those four months when I saw him every day. We'd eat breakfast and dinner together, play with the children together, and, after the first month and a half, make love together.

I know that we won't be able to have sex for awhile, especially the missionary position. As the doctor put it, "Mr. Micelli, it'll be awhile before you can do push-ups or similar exercise." But there are other ways to express our love physically. OK, we'll have to be careful even cuddling at first but we'll work it out.

I remember when I first came home after first marrying him. We'd spent an intense yet rambling couple of days together. We didn't know what the future would hold, but we were then hoping to date, once our divorce was final. (Long story.) We ended up not dissolving our marriage and instead living together.

What I'm thinking of as I wait for them to bring Tony out is how empty my bed felt my first night at home after we met. It never felt like that before, not even when Michael was away for weeks at a time. I think I knew even then that the bed didn't feel right without Tony.

I accepted that he'd be on the road once baseball season started. I wasn't crazy about it, but then he's not crazy about it when I bring work home. It's part of the whole package. And, yes, at least I could look forward to the reunions. I knew it wouldn't be like when Michael would return from his journeys. Tony and I wouldn't spend most of the time arguing.

And Tony was doing what he loved. Well, not that Michael hadn't been. But Michael could've done documentaries more locally, maybe worked for PBS in New York. It's not like he didn't have offers. But with Tony, if you're in the major leagues, you have to travel all over the US. It's a requirement. So I made that sacrifice so that he could do what he loved, and make money at it.

I of course never wanted him to be injured. But there is a part of me that is glad he's grounded, at least this year. Maybe he'll heal enough to start again, with another team, or even the Cardinals, if they want him back. But for the rest of this year, I'll see him every day, so something good has come out of this.

See, selfish. I think of women whose husbands go off to war, and some of the men don't come back. That's what happened to my grandfather during World War II. Then Nanna married Mr. Reynolds, who was very well to do. OK, bad example. But anyway, I'm very glad that Tony is too old to be drafted. He's joked that the minor leagues drafted him before the Army could. And of course he was married to Marie soon after. I wonder what she would've done if he'd died in Vietnam.

I shake my head, reminding myself that Tony is not going to die, that he has a shoulder injury which he's recovering from, and neither of us is being asked to make the ultimate sacrifice.

He hobbles in. Even though there's nothing wrong with his legs (there were some cuts and scrapes but nothing serious), it's hard for him to walk. He's unbalanced by the cast.

I go to him and offer my support. I know he hates this, hates being vulnerable, hates needing to literally lean on someone. "In sickness and in health," I whisper.

He tries to smile. "Yeah. And at least I'm not going home in a wheelchair."

What if he'd been injured more seriously? I've thought that more than once in the past few weeks. I try to remember how lucky we are that it's just his shoulder.

I sign him out. Even though he's right-handed, it's hard for him to write. When the paperwork is done, I escort him out to the cab.

"I guess it's good I'm with you instead of Marie," he says. "She was petite."

"And I'm so husky?"

"I didn't say that. But you're substantial."  
"Uh, thank you."

To my surprise, when the cabbie gets out to help him in, Tony exclaims, "John!"

"Hey, Mr. Micelli, how's it going?"

"Do you two know each other?"

"Yeah, I rode in his cab about a month ago. Before—When I came home."

"I saw the game against the Mets. I felt really bad for you."

Tony almost shrugs but stops himself. "Yeah, well, it's all part of the game. But what about you? I thought you were quitting driving."

"I'm still thinking about it. My wife worries about my safety. You know, driving at night. I might get robbed."

"Right," I say softly.

"But the money comes in handy for college, so I don't know."

"Stay in college," Tony says. "Do whatever you have to do to stay. I wish I could've gone. My life would've been better if I had."

I look at him in surprise. I didn't know that bothered him. But maybe his accident has made him rethink things.

"Hey, you seem to have done all right. At least you got to play in the majors. Not many people can say that."

"Yeah. And I've got my family." Tony smiles at me.

Tony and I don't talk much on the way home. We just hold hands. He chats a little with John, including about the colorful employees at the Sunshine Cab Company. John's boss sounds horrible. I feel lucky that I get along with my boss, although obviously my friendship with Grant is strained since I married Tony.

"Do you, uh, do you need much flexibility to drive a cab? Physical flexibility I mean," Tony wonders.

"You'd at least have to get out of your cast first," John says.  
"Yeah, right."

Is Tony thinking about driving a cab? I don't think I'd like that. I'd be like John's wife, worried about Tony's safety. On the other hand, he could come home most nights, unlike with baseball.

I give John a good tip when we arrive at the house. Tony and I both wish him luck, whatever he decides to do. In Tony's case, I think some of that is his own uncertainty about the future. I don't know what I'd do if I had to give up advertising, so I can relate a little, too.

The kids are waiting for us, looking out the front window. I wonder how long they've been sitting there. Their little faces light up when they see Tony and then Sam yanks open the door and they rush him. I worry that they'll hurt him, maybe knock him over, but he doesn't complain. I know he wants to scoop them both up into his arms but he can't. He does reach down with his good arm and stroke their hair.

Adelaide smiles at us from the doorway. I can smell spaghetti when we get closer.

And the banner is up. It looks like Sam did the lettering. She also drew a picture of Tony. (A smiling stick-man with dark, wavy hair.) Jonathan drew I think dinosaurs. Or maybe those are dragons, or snakes.

Both kids are talkative at dinner. They're so happy to have their—I almost said their father home. He is Jonathan's father in my eyes, in all but biology. Michael visits every once in awhile but he's just not very involved in Jonathan's life and never has been.

Tony and I play with the kids after dinner. I have to keep reminding Sam especially to be gentle with him. She says she can't wait till his cast is off so they can play catch and shoot hoops again. I think she doesn't understand that Tony won't be all healed then, that he'll still need to be careful for awhile.

Both kids sign his cast. Sam's signature is large and confident although messy. Jonathan's scrawl is eccentric but determined.

"Boy's obviously gonna be a doctor," Tony jokes.

We put the kids to bed, although Tony can't really tuck anyone in. Even leaning forward to kiss them goodnight is tricky for him. It's hard to believe that this clumsy man is the graceful athlete of just a month ago. But the old Tony will return, not unchanged but mostly intact.

Then we go to our room. I help him undress and put on his pajama bottoms. He doesn't want to bother with the top, since it's a hassle to put on shirts now. I think of all the times I've undressed him, or watched him undress himself, but it's not particularly erotic now. Yet I don't want it to seem like I'm his nurse. I try to think of it more as doing this for a friend.

Then I change into my nightgown. To my surprise, Tony's eyes are dark and hungry. And sure enough, there is the familiar bulge in the pajamas.

"Hey, it's just my shoulder that's messed up," he says.

I nod. I still want him and he still wants me. Push-ups or not, we can do something about this.

I come to bed and lie on the side of his good shoulder. Then I kiss his lips, his cheek, his neck.

"Mmm, Angela, I wish we could but—"

"Leave it to me, Tony," I say. And then I reach into his pajamas and pleasure him.

Before long, he uses his right hand to push up my nightgown and pull down my panties. Then he pleasures me.

We do this till I've come twice and he's come once, kissing the whole while. It's not as good as sex but it's still lovely. And I'm just so happy to be with him again.

"Man, I can't wait till I'm out of this cast!"

"Me, too, although we'll still have to be careful for awhile."

"You could do push-ups," he says, squeezing my breasts in turn.

"Mmm, that could be fun." Yes, if I didn't put my torso against his, my being on top could work. But not yet. We'll have to go slowly.

We fall asleep, carefully snuggling. It's so good to have him home again.


	5. Throwing a Curve

I'm getting things ready for the 4th of July BBQ when Angela says, "Tony, I've been thinking. Maybe you should go to school."

I blink. "Uh, Angie, just 'cause I didn't grow up in the 'burbs doesn't mean I can't barbecue." And do they have BBQ school? Well, I guess anything's possible in Connecticut.

"No, I mean college."

"College?"

"Yes, at least for the Fall. Spring training isn't till February and—"

"If I go back."

"Right. And it'll give you something to do. I know how bored and restless you are. And by September, you'll be healed enough to attend classes."

I go back to setting up the grill while I think about this. (I'm very glad the cast is off, and not just for BBQ of course.) She's right. It's hard for me to sit at home all day. I can't even do housework or cook because Adelaide does everything. Even when I offer to help, she tells me I should just rest and enjoy my "vacation." Mostly, I read and I watch TV.

(Poor Karen Wolek on _One Life to Live_ is going through hell this year. Adelaide and the other housekeepers updated me on what I missed in the last few months, and then I've been watching every weekday since I got home. It makes our lives seem pretty tame, but then it is a soap opera.)

But, anyway, about school. Yeah, it's crossed my mind over the years but I always figured it was too late. "Won't it be weird if I start at 27? I'll be years older than everyone."

"That's not true. Many people go to college after 'college age.' And I've heard that they get more out of it than the younger students. Look at my friend Isabel. She loves going to NYU medical school."  
"Yeah, that's true. But I don't think I'd want to go all the way into New York like she does."

"You wouldn't have to for undergraduate. There's a good local college right here in Fairfield. Ridgemont."

"Sounds like you've really looked into this. Picked out my major yet?"

"Oh, you won't have to decide on that till your sophomore year."

"Good to know." It is tempting. Even if I only went for half the school year, I could be done in maybe eight years. I'd be 35 and when I do actually retire from baseball (assuming I get back in), I'd have more possibilities. Plus, it would give me something new to think about. And maybe, well, sometimes Angela makes literary and other references I just don't get. I'd like to have more intellectual conversations with her. I feel insecure about that sometimes. "Yeah, I guess I could pick up a catalog."

"I have one in the house."

I shake my head. "Of course you do."

We don't tell anyone at the BBQ. I still want to give this some thought. And this is a social occasion, a chance to see everyone. (And to celebrate Mona's 48th birthday, although she'd kill us if we told anyone that part.) Pop, Mrs. Rossini, and some of my other friends came up from Brooklyn. It's weird seeing them mix with the Fergusons, Schaeffers, and Witteners, but those are the families who've most accepted me and Sam, so it's not as bad as if we'd invited the Parkers and the other snooty families.

I think about how I'm not usually around to socialize with friends and neighbors this time of year. The Cards are playing the Pirates today. And part of me wishes I was there, but I'm also glad to be here. I wonder, if I went to college, could I get a job that wouldn't mean being on the road so much? But something I'd love as much as baseball. I don't know what that would be, although I guess I could figure it out after eight years.

And there's another thing. Sam has a brighter future now that I've moved her out of Brooklyn. I love Brooklyn, but I can't deny that. What if I set an example for her by going to college? She'd be about 15 when I'm done, just the age when she should start planning for college for herself. That would be more inspiring than having a dad who's a jock without much future.

Everyone fusses over me and how well I'm recovering. Mrs. Rossini says she's been praying for me. And Pop says, "Lookin' good, Kid."

"Thanks, Pop." I pull him aside and ask, "Pop, what would you think if I went to college?"

I half expect him to laugh. I know Philly and the guys would. But he beams and says, "Your mother would be so proud! And your grandparents."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, we all wanted you to go to college, Anthony, but the money wasn't there. And then you got into baseball and it seemed like you wouldn't need more education."

"Yeah," I say quietly. "Well, this would just be during the off season. It'd take me about eight years."

"It's still wonderful."

"Thanks, Pop." I should've known. My old man loves whatever I decide to do. Look at how he welcomed Angela into the family, when she was a Protestant I married on a Vegas bender.

When it gets dark, we all drive out to Piedmont Lake to watch the fireworks. I still can't lift Sam but I can carry Jonathan. I can't put him on my shoulders yet, so I just hold him in my arms. Pop puts Sam on his shoulders so she doesn't feel left out. We all stand close, Angela and Mona, too. And we oo and aw with our friends at the pyrotechnics.

A year from now, I may be on the road. A year ago, I was on the road and still trying to get my head straight three and a half months after Marie died. But tonight I'm here, being dazzled by the sky, with all these wonderful people.

When the fireworks are over, we say goodbye to everyone and take the kids and Adelaide home. Mona and Pop have further plans to celebrate, but I've learned not to ask too much about what is and isn't going on with those two. They seem happy and that's enough.

Adelaide is going to watch TV, even "The Late, Late Show," since she's "letting" me make breakfast tomorrow. Angela and I put the kids to bed. It's easier for me than it was a couple weeks ago.

And, well, we're about to find out if something else is easier now. Angela and I change for bed and this time she puts on a very skimpy nightie, while I don't even bother with my pajama bottoms. We snuggle up and kiss, which leads to careful but attentive foreplay and then when we're both ready, she mounts me. She sits almost straight up, not wanting to get anywhere near my healing shoulder.

"You've got to angle yourself a little, Angie."

"Like this?"

"Mmm, just like that."  
"Mmm, you're right. Much better."

I let her do most of the work. After all, I am recuperating. I miss being able to be vigorous, but the important thing is that I'm finally inside her again. And as I keep healing, I can gradually take on a more active role again.

She's able to come pretty easily on top. (Not that she ever seems to have much trouble with me. I just shake my head when Mona jokes about Angela being frigid. Maybe she was with Michael, or maybe that's just how Mona likes to think of her daughter. But that is not how I think of my volcanic wife.) I can't come until Angela carefully climbs off me and then lies besides me, nuzzling my neck, her hand teasing and then satisfying me.

"I love you, Tony."  
"I love you, Angie. And, um, I think I'll go to college."

She grins and then kisses my cheek. "You won't regret this!"

I hope not. Hey, what's the worst that could happen? Phone-booth-stuffing makes a comeback and I dislocate my shoulder again?


	6. Flies

We're all on a plane to Florida! Me and my family—Daddy, Grandpa Matty, my stepmom Angela, my little stepbrother Jonathan, and Angela's mom Mona. We're going to Disney World for my birthday tomorrow! I am sooooo lucky. And my best friend Marci is sooooo jealous! I asked if we could take her but Dad said no.

Oh, but they did say it was OK for our maid Adelaide to come, too. Then Mona said, "And someone has to watch the children. Matty and I will be much too busy. And I'm sure you two will be." Then Daddy gave her that look he gives her sometimes and Angela quietly said, "Mother, not in front of the K-I-D-S," which spells "kids."

I'm going to be in first grade next month but I can already spell and read some. I'm pretty good at math and art, too. I'm going to be seven tomorrow and I'm older than a lot of kids in my grade because I was born in August and Mommy and Daddy decided I wasn't ready for kindergarten when it was time.

Mommy died last year before I started school. She was sick for a very long time. Mrs. Rossini says Mommy is at peace now, but I still miss her. Angela is great but she's not Italian and you have to explain a lot to her. And she doesn't know sports either. I am teaching Jonathan everything I know so that he won't grow up so ignorous. But his mom is a nice lady and I'm really lucky that she's the one Daddy married, because I didn't really like his girlfriends in Brooklyn, even though they were Italian. She's smart and rich and she is crazy about Daddy.

And he is crazy about her, even though she'd never been to a baseball game before she met him. She probably won't want to go to another game after what happened last time. Poor Daddy hurt his shoulder! He had to be in the hospital for about a month. I missed him. Everybody did. Poor little Jonathan hardly ever sees his daddy, so he thinks sometimes my daddy is his. He cried a lot when Daddy was gone. OK, I did, too.

Daddy is better now. Not all better but almost. He can't play baseball the rest of this year, but he says he probably will again next year. We can play catch and shoot hoops again though, so I'm making sure he doesn't get too out of shape.

Oh, and Daddy is going to go to school! Isn't that funny? He's going to college. I asked if it was like _Animal House_ and he stared at me. "Who took you to see that?" he sort of yelled.

I laughed. "Don't be silly, Dad. It's rated R. But it's just like the TV show, huh?" A few months ago, I watched _Delta House,_ so I know all about college.

"Uh, yeah, I guess. But I'm going to go to school to learn things."

"Well, yeah, but you'll do fun stuff, too, right? Like food fights and stealing people's underwear?"

"Well, my underwear-stealing days are kind of behind me."

Then Angela laughed and said, "At the camp I went to when I was a teenager, the boys from the Y Camp used to steal our underwear and run it up the flagpole."

"Hey, at least we saluted."

Then she shushed him. I bet they thought I didn't notice, but I heard him say "we." I wonder if they knew each other back then, even though that was a long, long time ago, before he married Mommy. Sometimes I think they have secrets, nothing bad, just grown-up stuff.

I have a windowseat and I can see the sky and all the clouds and the little teeny-tiny houses. I haven't been on very many airplanes. Just a couple times when Mommy took me to see Daddy play baseball when I was little. Jonathan has never been on a plane before and I don't think he understands that we're up in the sky. I think he thinks the windows are like televisions. But he is only half as old as I am, three and a half.

"Would you two like some wings to wear?" asks the stewardess. And she's holding up a pin that looks like silver!

"Yes, please, how much does it does cost?" I say real quick, wanting the pin but remembering that I shouldn't spend too much money, even though we can afford more things now that we live with Angela.

The stewardess laughs. "It's free to all our little flyers."

"Wings!" Jonathan says. He doesn't talk much. It's not because he's stupid. It's just that sometimes he doesn't have all the words to say what he thinks. Sometimes I have to explain for him, as a terpreter, like at the UN.

She carefully pins the wings on me and Jonathan. My pin is so pretty I don't ever want to take it off!

Then Daddy comes back from the bathroom. "Look, Daddy, look at what we got!"

"Tony Micelli?" says the stewardess. That happens sometimes. People know Daddy because he's a baseball player. He's not super famous like Steve Garvey, but he's kind of famous.

"Noreen?"

"Wow, Tony, it is you! What's it been? Eight or nine years?"

"Um, something like that." Daddy looks embarrassed. Uh oh, this must be one of his girlfriends, but from a long time ago, before he was married to Mommy.

"That's right, you'd just started playing for some minor league team and I'd just become a stew."

"Uh, yeah."

She laughs. "I remember how Ida and I used to fight over you!"

"Uh, yeah."

"So are these your kids?"

"Yeah, these are my kids. Come meet my wife!" He leads her down the plane to where Angela, Mona, and Grandpa are sitting. (We couldn't all get seats together. And Adelaide took the bus because she hates to fly.)

"Wings," Jonathan says.

"Yeah, wings." I'm not sure if I want to wear mine anymore. Well, they are pretty. I guess I'll keep them so I can show Marci.

I'm glad Daddy married Angela, not someone like Noreen. Angela is real, not fake like some girls who like Daddy. And she's just as pretty as Noreen, but it's the kind of pretty where you don't notice right away. The better you know her, the prettier she gets.

Daddy comes back. I think about asking him about Noreen but I decide not to. Maybe it's OK for grown-ups to not tell you everything. Maybe when I'm a grown-up, there will be things I won't tell even Dad.

It takes two and a half hours to fly from New York to Florida. Before Daddy got hurt, he said we might go to Disneyland this summer, all the way in California! That takes much longer. But Florida is OK with me. It's taking Adelaide over a day to go by bus, so she left yesterday.

Daddy and Angela flew to South Carolina last year, which is close to Florida. He played baseball to raise money for vets, not the kind for animals, but the other kind. They invited Mommy, too, but Daddy said he'd take Angela since Mommy couldn't go. I think they had fun, even though Angela doesn't know much about baseball.

Sometimes Angela gets scared to fly. She promised that if she barfs, I can see the barf bag. I think it would be cool and gross at the same time.

Grown-ups get scared more than you think. I know she was scared when Daddy got hurt sliding into third, but she pretended not to be. I was scared at first, but Grandpa and Mrs. Rossini said that if we prayed to God really hard, Daddy would be OK. And I did and it came true. God can fix things sometimes, except sometimes He doesn't want to, like when Mommy got sick. Father Marconi says this is Higher Purpose and we can't understand sometimes.

Last year, I prayed a lot that God would make Mommy better. But I guess He knew we were supposed to live with Angela and Jonathan in Connecticut. (Last year, when I was littler, I couldn't say Connecticut. Now I can even spell it!) Anyway, I think God knew that Angela and Jonathan needed us, and we needed them. So even though I feel sad when I think about Mommy, I'm happy that other things are good now. Even Daddy hurting his shoulder is OK because it means he's home a lot and now we get to go to Disney World, yay!

Oh, no, Noreen is coming back, but it's OK because she has those salted nuts in a little bag that you can only get on planes.

"Look, Jonathan! Peanuts!"

"Peanus!"

For some reason, Daddy looks real embarrassed and Noreen is trying not to laugh. I will ask Daddy about that later. Or maybe I won't.


	7. Bench

We're here at Disney World, and the kids are having a blast. I'm including Tony in that, because he's the biggest kid of all. He bought a T-shirt and mouse ears and he's got a big grin on his face. And he's taking pictures of everyone and everything. Not to mention, he's going on all the rides.

Angela is of course more cautious, for herself and for him. She's worried he's going to aggravate his shoulder, although it's been two and a half months and he's healing well. I assume they've been cautious when they have sex, although of course I can't ask. (Well, I can ask, but she won't tell.) I know that they've been having it because I can always tell with those two. I was pretty sure when they came back from South Carolina in November, and I'm almost positive that they got it on on the Fourth of July, because I visited them on the Fifth and they didn't seem as, well, tense as they had been since he came home from the hospital. (And at that, they must've been fooling around a little, because they weren't entirely tense when he had to wear a cast.)

I suppose it's none of my business, but I can't help it. I've always been fascinated by sex. Who's having it and who isn't, and why and why not. And then poor Angela, well, she didn't get much sex before Tony entered her life, so I like to think that she's making up for it now.

As for me, well, I do all right. I'm not the romantic she is. I don't think you have to be in love to have sex. Liking someone is enough. And, yes, I like Matty.

He looks like Tony but not enough to the point that it's creepy for me to take him to bed. And his personality is completely different. Tony has his laidback, easy-going side, but he also has an obsessive, competitive side that rivals Angela's. Matty just has the laidback side. "Che sarà sarà," as Doris Day would say in Italian.

We were instantly attracted to each other, but we decided not to act on it right away, which is unusual for me. Tony and Angela were still sorting out their own feelings, and we didn't want to complicate things for them. Also, years ago Matty and I both lost spouses we adored, and we're not looking for replacements. Furthermore, we knew we'd be seeing a lot of each other, as "the grandparents." (Yes, Nick Milano is a grandparent, too, but he and Tony have never gotten along and he's not exactly reliable.) So we held off till July 4th, a very nice birthday present for me. This is, I don't know, a friendly fling? Neither of us wants to label it.

But when Angela asked, I said, "We're devotedly nonexclusive." He still has his Brooklyn girlfriends, nothing serious there either. And I still have my other special friends.

The sex is good, very good. I don't think it's just that he's Italian, because so is Nick, and Tony's friend Bobby Governale, and they were, well, adequate. Nick was fun but too crude even for me, and then Bobby isn't the most emotional of men. Matty is sweet without being sickly, and very, very passionate, and yet he keeps it light. It's hard to explain.

Anyway, we're not actually doing anything at the hotel. We know how Tony and Angela would react to that. I have to share a room with, ugh, Adelaide. Oh, she's nice enough, but I always feel like people look at me and then at her and think _That's what a grandmother is supposed to be like!_

Matty and I plan to commandeer the rental car for moonlit drives along the Florida coast and probably some parking at the more deserted beaches. But we're behaving during the day. Well, OK, we are hoping we can neck a little in the darkness of the Haunted Mansion.

Then Adelaide, pushing Jonathan's stroller, comes up to us in line and says, "Mrs. Robinson, you've got to do something about Mrs. Micelli!"

"Angela?" You'd think Tony would be the one she's concerned about. "The last I saw her, she was sitting reading a novel on a bench."

"She's only pretending to read. She's actually working on some advertising report."

"Biznus," Jonathan says seriously.

I shake my head. Angela promised me and Tony she'd try to have fun, not bring her work or her worries about work with her on this trip. But then Tony promised he wouldn't throw his hands in the air on Space Mountain.

"Don't go in without me," I tell Matty.

"Of course not," he says with a smile.

"Unless you need me, Mrs. Robinson, I'm taking Jonathan to It's a Small World."

"They're not paying you enough, Adelaide."

She chuckles and heads east to the neighboring ride, while I head south to the bench outside the Hall of Presidents. Sure enough, there's my workaholic daughter, poring over some boring computer print-out of statistics.

I plop down next to her and say, "Well, no wonder they call this the Magic Kingdom."

"Oh, Mother! You startled me. I thought it was Tony."

"Why? Afraid he'll scold you for working instead of having fun?"

"Mother, I am having fun."

"Yes, I know, Dear. You're twisted enough to actually enjoy this sort of thing. But I meant normal fun, like spending time with the family, going on rides, and eating too much sugar."

"I've done all of that. I'm just taking a little break."

"Angela, would it kill you to not think about work for a couple days?"

"Mother, I shouldn't even be here in Florida. There's a very important account I had to leave at a critical stage."

"They're all important accounts and they're always at critical stages."

"No, really, this one is. It's East of Java, this Asian coffee that's becoming very popular on college campuses and could be the big drink of the '80s."

"So that's why you were on that pay phone earlier. You've been calling work, haven't you?"

"Just once or twice. I can't do it from my hotel room because Tony will catch me."

I shake my head. It's hard to believe sometimes that she's my daughter, except that she is exactly like her father. Robert rarely took vacations and even when he did, it was like he wasn't really present. I think of telling her how her father neglected me so much that I became lonely enough to have an affair. But I've never told anyone but Robert about it. And I don't want her to think that I'm implying that Tony would cheat on her. I don't think he would. Oh, he notices pretty girls, but his heart belongs to Angela. Not that my heart didn't belong to Robert of course.

And it's not just about Angela neglecting Tony, and the rest of the family. I know that by her own standards she's making an effort. It's just, I don't think it's good for her to be so much about business. Yes, she's lightened up some since Tony came into her life, but not enough.

"I'm sure they can manage without you for a week." Well, six days really. Wednesday through Monday. And it was very hard to get her to agree to that. She wanted to do just the weekend, but Tony had promised that we could be at Disney World for Sam's actual birthday.

Angela shakes her head. "You just don't understand."

"I understand more than you think. I understand that there is little or nothing you can do for Wallace and McQuade at this moment, except give their hardest-working vice-president a little rest and relaxation before she drops dead of a coronary before the age of 30."

"Oh, Mother, don't exaggerate." But she does put the report back in her tote bag. And then I steal the tote bag. "Mother!"

"You can have it back when we return to the hotel. I'll trust Tony to distract you there."

She blushes. "Where is Tony?"

"Last I heard, he was heading towards It's a Small World."

She puts on a martyred expression but lets me lead her north. Hey, I have to have fun, too, you know.


	8. Out

Ha, at last "Ms." Bower is going down! And not in the sense that I'm sure she did to get the vice-presidency that should have been mine.

I've been here longer than Bower has but who did Grant give Claude's position to? His little "protégée." Yes, she claimed that there was nothing going on with our esteemed president. But she also claimed that there was nothing going on with her "housekeeper," and the next thing you know, she's married to the guy! She's a liar as well as a two-bit tramp.

But, like all women, her hormones finally took over her brain and she ran off on some Florida vacation with her musclebound husband, right when we've got the big E of J account to deal with. And her assistant Howard (smart-ass kid, barely out of college) claims that he left messages at her hotel but maybe she didn't get them. (Of course he makes excuses for her. She's probably sleeping with him, too.)

Grant is not happy but, boy, I am! He's called an emergency meeting for this afternoon. I don't know if I'd rather Bower not be able to make it (her flight's due back this morning but knowing her, she might stay an extra day or two), or if she can make it and then has to be humiliated and/or fired in person.

Either way, she's gotta be on her way out, which means I have a real shot at that vice-presidency. I've earned it. I've paid my dues. And I haven't taken a vacation in years. She took six weeks off last summer so she could get a divorce! And she'll probably need to do that again when Micelli gets tired of her.

Yes, there's a danger that she can win Grant over, with her usual methods. Or maybe he's hoping she'll pull a solution out of that cute little ass of hers, something to get the client to come back. I'll admit she's creative in a superficial way. Catchy slogans and that kind of thing. And she does a good job of pretending to do thorough research, or at least getting Howard and the others on her team to do it for her and put it into neat little memos and summaries.

I stop by her secretary's desk an hour before the meeting. "Hi, Rosie, any word on your boss? Will she be able to make the meeting?"

Rosie, that red-dyed-haired little bitch with the low-class accent, gives me a fish-eyed look and says, "Don't worry, Mr. Peterson, she'll be there. She's on the train right now."

"Oh, good." Damn! But, no, it's fine. It's probably better that Bower get humiliated and/or fired in person, where I can enjoy the show.

She does make it to the meeting on time, but she's not exactly dressed for success. She's wearing sandals, a polka-dot sundress, a shawl, and a tan.

"Sorry to interrupt your vacation, Angela," Grant says.

"No, it's fine," she says, ignoring his sarcasm. "Rosie said you needed me, so here I am."

"We also needed you in the past few days. Where were you?"

She looks startled. "I told you. I was in Orlando."

"You also told us that you would be available to answer any phone calls," I point out.

"Uh, Ms. Bower, I left you a bunch of messages," Howard says.

"You did?" She looks genuinely startled. I bet she hardly got out of bed except to lie on the beach or frolic with the Pirates of the Caribbean. "I never got any messages. Maybe the hotel lost them."

"Oh, yes, Disney is known for its inefficiency," I say dryly.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't reply but it's not my fault."

"Angela, I need a vice-president who can take responsibility, not blame other people."

"Grant, I'm not—Look, I'm sorry we lost the account, but I have the right to take a vacation. People need to be replenished. It makes them creative and productive and a whole lot happier."

"Yes, I'm sure all that orange juice got your other juices flowing."

She blushes and Grant says, "Jim."  
"Creative juices," I say innocently. "But what good is you being creative if you're not here?"

"I am here most of the time."

"Yes, most of the time," Grant says. "But I'm afraid your personal life this past year has made you much less dedicated to this agency."

"My personal life?" she says, taken aback.

"Yes, first you took six weeks off to go to Reno for a divorce when you could've filed in Connecticut and not missed any work."  
"But I got remarried over Thanksgiving!" Like that makes up for everything.

"And then you took some time off in May—"

"Because my husband was seriously injured!"

"And now you took a whole week off to celebrate your stepdaughter's birthday."  
"And she left early on Halloween."  
"Shut up, Jim."

"Look, I am very devoted to this company. But work is not my life. My life is my life. And that's how I run my department. And if you don't like it, Grant, you can get a wimp like Jim to be vice-president."

Dead silence. Then Grant turns to me and says, "Congratulations, Jim."

"Thanks, Grant! I promise you won't regret—"

"Shut up, Jim," he says and leaves.

Bower just stands there and then quietly says, "Well, you finally won, Jim. I hope you're happy."

"Hey, Angela, no hard feelings, right?"

"Shut up, Jim!" She storms out.

"Um, so I guess I'm working for you now, Mr. Peterson," Howard says.

It sinks in. Her staff is now my staff. Her office, my office. Her salary, my salary.

"Yes. Howard, let the team know that there will be a meeting tomorrow morning, 10 o'clock sharp."

"Yes, Sir."

He leaves. I bask in the promotion for a moment, looking around this meeting room, thinking of the meetings I'll attend as a vice-president. And then I wonder if I can go into Bower's, I mean my, office and start taking measurements. Or is that too much like not waiting for the body to get cold?

Will she be in there, packing up? Or will she be crying on Rosie's shoulder? No, wait, this is the dragon lady. She may pretend to be leaving without a fight, but I'm sure she's up to something. And knowing her track record, it's probably a re-seduction of Grant. After all, that wasn't exactly a formal promotion I just got, was it?

OK, now where is the most likely setting? Her office? His office? The executive washroom? Oh, right, she doesn't have a key. OK, I'll try her office first.

I'm in luck. Rosie has stepped away from her desk, probably on one of her long coffee breaks. (I'll put a stop to that when she's my secretary. OK, as soon as she gets back.) And Bower left her door open. So I can linger by the water cooler and hear just fine.

"Angela, I didn't want it to end like this."

"Neither did I, Grant. But I've been doing a lot of rethinking about my life, what's really important. And maybe this is for the best."

"The best? Angela, I understand the need for a balanced life, believe me. But you can be ambitious and have a family. Hell, a year ago you were and did."

"A year ago I was so unhappily married that I had to end my marriage or lose my sanity. And it wasn't just that I was ambitious. I was trying to escape from my life through work. I can't live like that anymore."

"What are you going to do? Stay home and be a housewife?"

"No, I'll get a job at another ad agency. After all, this is only the fourteenth largest agency in the country. There are thirteen others I can try."  
"Very funny, Angela. Do you think you can just go down to the vice-presidents hiring hall?"

"Grant, I'm good at what I do. You admitted that."

"Yes, but—"

"Does that mean you won't give me a good recommendation?"

"Of course I will. I like to think we're still friends. And you did good work until you had this 'epiphany.' Maybe you can do good work for our competitors."

"Thank you. No hard feelings?"

"Well."  
"Excuse me, Mr. Peterson, may I help you?"

Damn, Rosie's back. "Yes, you can get me the East of Java file."  
She gives me fish eyes again. "Excuse me?"

Bower emerges from her office, with a box of what I hope aren't office supplies. A picture of her "family" at Christmastime—the slutty mother, the ugly little boy, the stud housekeeper, and his bratty daughter— lies on the top.

"Rosie, I'm very sorry but I'm leaving Wallace and McQuade."

"Oh. You need help carrying that downstairs?"

"No, but could you call me a cab?"

"Yeah, of course, Ms. Bower."  
"Excuse me, Angela, but Rosie is my secretary now."

Grant emerges from Bower's office. I look but I don't see his fly undone or anything too suspicious. "Not till tomorrow, Jim. Your vice-presidency begins then."

OK, I can live with that. The important thing is I've won and Bower, with her overconfidence, is not fighting this. But we'll see how long she lasts without Grant's protection.


	9. Bread and Butter

I've been unemployed for three days and I've already gone through a gamut of emotions, and most of my Rolodex.

On Monday there was the shock of Grant not only firing me but replacing me with a man that neither of us can stand. And then there was a combination of relief and optimism. I was sure that I would find something better.

Then coming home on the train, with my box of personal items and, OK, my lucky pen, I felt lost. It was too early to see my fellow commuters. It sunk in. I was unemployed. When would I be taking this train to or from work again?

Then I got home and I wanted Tony to comfort me. He wouldn't be able to cook dinner for me, since Adelaide wouldn't let him. But he could give me a one-handed foot massage. (His shoulder is closer to being healed but we're still careful not to strain it, and his massages can be very intense.)

But he led me to my den, sat me down, and said, "Angela, I gotta tell you. I'm the one who got you fired."

I stared at him. "You weren't even at the meeting."

"No, when your assistant, Howie? He left all these messages at the hotel about 'losing the coffee.' I thought he meant, you know, coffee. Not a coffee account. But after you left for the city, Mona told me about East of Java."

"Oh."  
"Baby, I am so sorry! I wish I'd known. But I was trying to take care of you. You work so hard and it's been killing you. You needed a break. And I didn't want them bothering you about every little thing."

"Tony, this wasn't a little thing. This was a $5 million account."  
"Yeah, I know that, now."

I shook my head. "I don't know what to say."

"You want me to go there tomorrow? I could tell them it's my fault."

It was tempting. But I thought of what Grant said about me needing to take responsibility, not blame other people. And I thought of watching fireworks at Disney World, and sunsets on the beach. I thought of going on rides with the kids and buying them silly souvenirs. I thought of splashing in the waves with Tony and making love on Sleeping Beauty sheets. (OK, that part was a little weird.) Besides, considering what Grant and the others at the agency think of Tony, and his effect on my hormones, I didn't think his explanation would help anyway.

"Thank you, Tony, but maybe it's time for me to move on."

"Yeah, you'll probably find something better."

I nodded. But here I am, having called every agency in or near New York. No one will hire me as vice-president, director, or manager. Maybe I'd have found something if I'd looked before I got fired, but the word is already out that I'm flaky and unreliable. Yeah, me, Angela Robinson, class valedictorian, the girl who used to iron her term papers for extra neatness.

I look around my den. It seems like a joke to have this room now, this relic of my thriving career. Oh, God, how can I even afford this house anymore? I just finished off buying Michael out. I'd offer to sell it to him, but obviously the great explorer does not need this sort of white elephant.

Tony knocks. "Can I come in?"

"Yes." I'm not mad at him. I'm more mad at myself. The old Angela could've gone into that emergency meeting (preferably in a business suit rather than a sundress), dazzled them, and thought of a way to save the account, even if it meant working overtime for a few weeks. But I've changed too much.

He brings in a plate of walnut fudge.

I smile. "Did Adelaide actually let you in the kitchen?"

"I told her I needed to save my marriage."

I laugh. "It's not that bad."

"Not that bad? Angela, we're both unemployed!"

That sinks in. He's right. Yes, I may get another job in advertising, but I may have to settle for copywriting. And if he returns to baseball, it may be back to the minors. How are we going to afford any of this lifestyle? Would we have to move to Brooklyn?

"On the bright side, maybe I can get my job as housekeeper back."

"Oh, poor Adelaide!"

"Yeah, she told me she can go without a salary for a month or two if she needs to, since she's got Social Security, but you know, it can't be indefinitely."

"Yes."  
"But me? I can live on love."

I try to smile. But I burst into tears.

"Oh, Sweetheart! Come here!"

I go into his arms. I cry on his healthier shoulder. I've never really cried this much in front of him. Or anyone in a long time. I feel funny about it, but he's my husband, my Tony.

He leads me over to the couch and I cry awhile longer.

When I stop, he says, "You feel any better?"

"No."  
"No?"

"Oh, Tony, you're very sweet, but what if I don't find anything? I don't know who I am if I'm not in advertising. It's the only thing I've ever been good at."  
"That's not true."  
"Well, the only thing I can make money at."

"Legally?"

I shake my head, laugh, and hit his healthier shoulder.

"Hey, come on, this is what I was trying to tell you in Orlando. You are not your job. Just like I'm not mine. Yeah, I hate that I maybe can never play pro ball again. But I've got other talents."

"I know," I tease.

"I mean ones I can make money from, legally."

"Right."

"We're both gonna find something. We have to believe that. But even if we had to sell the house and everything and move to a trailer park and eat cat food out of cans, I'd still love you."

"But I'd have horrible breath."

He laughs and then kisses me.

"Oh, Tony, you're wonderful."  
"I know."

I laugh. Then I shake my head. "What about the children? I want them both to have bright futures, go to college and—" I break off, realizing.

"Oh, yeah, about that. I was thinking, maybe it'd be best if I put off going to college, at least for awhile. I can get a job, a paid one. Like, the Rossinis are always looking for help in their fish market."

"Fish? Oh, Tony." That's not what I want to see him doing with his life.

"Ay-oh, oh-ay, it's honest work. Smelly but honest."

"But what about your shoulder?"

"I wouldn't lift anything heavy till I'm all better. I'd mostly work the counter, sweep up."

"Tony, I have savings. We can afford to send you to college."  
"You sure?"

"I'm sure." I know how much he's been looking forward to it, and what a great example it would be for Sam.

"Well, I would like to go. And maybe I can get a scholarship. Obviously, not an athletic one. Or an academic one."  
"Tony, don't talk like that."

"Hey, come on, Angela, I know who I am. I'm not some brilliant student like you were."

He has his own insecurities. I forget that sometimes. I take his hand and say, "Come on. Let's go upstairs and do some of what we do best."

He smiles. "Yeah, at least that's still free."

As we head towards our bedroom, I think of our plans to start trying to conceive when New Year's rolls around. That's four and a half months away. Tony will be all healed by then, but what will our financial situation be? I want a child with him but is this something that should wait? What if we put it off till he's done with college?

If he ends up playing baseball again, in the minors or majors, then that's eight years away. I'll be 37, a bit old but not dangerously old. If he's through in four years, working in the fish store or wherever at the same time, I'll be 33. Is four or even eight years enough time to rebuild my career so that I can pause to have a child?

Or is this all a sign that now is when we should have a child, when we're both at home and obviously have the time to conceive and then care for a baby? What if we sold the house and bought a smaller one? Sam spent her first six years in an apartment. Any house is going to seem like an improvement over that. And Jonathan is too little to know or care. We could live simply. I could learn to sew, bake bread, clip coupons.

Part of me wants that simple life. But I also feel like I'd miss advertising if I gave it up completely. And I do think Tony would miss baseball, but if he couldn't play it'd be because it's physically impossible. In my case, it's just bad luck, and my luck could change.

"Angie," Tony says, as he peels off my blouse, "I was thinkin'. I'd kinda like to have a kid now. But I'm wondering if we should hold off until everything is less up in the air."

I nod. "I was thinking the same thing." I undo the buttons on his shirt. (I love how T-shirts cling to his chest but he has to wear buttoned shirts till his shoulder is all well. It's just easier.)

"I mean, if it was just one of us out of work, that would be OK. But I'm a little nervous about the future. I think it'll be all right. But we're not there yet."

"So I should cancel having a pool installed in the backyard?" I joke.

"Uh, yeah. But a hot tub would be OK."

I grin, imagining soaking with him, all that heat, all those bubbles. Then I realize we can do an inexpensive version of that. "Tony, would you like to share my plain old everyday tub?"

He grins back. "I'd love to. And you know, it's a great way to economize, sharing baths and showers."

"And it's more fun than clipping coupons."


	10. Team

Two weeks ago, I chilled the champagne as I waited for Angela to come back from her interview with Sterling & Simpkin. They're even bigger than Wallace & McQuade, like tenth biggest in the country.

But when she came in, she said the job she got was head copywriter.

"Angela, this job is way beneath you. Why would you take it?" Yeah, I know what I said about the trailer park and cat food, but that doesn't mean she should settle for a job that's not much better than what she got fresh out of college.

"Because it's all I could get."

"That's not true."  
"Tony, what do you want me to do? Start my own agency?"

I grinned. "Now you're talkin'."

"Don't be naive. You don't just start your own agency."  
"Look, Angie, I think you can do anything."

"Tony, your faith in me is very sweet, but that would be a lot to take on."  
"Hey, think of all the energy you wasted dealing with the jerks at Wallace & McQuade. What if you used that same energy to build your own business?"

She had a bunch of arguments, but I had counter-arguments for all of them. And I could see that this was something she wanted to do, but she was just scared. Which I understand. Our future is uncertain anyway, but maybe this is all a sign to try something new.

OK, me enrolling in college isn't as big a risk, financially or otherwise, but it is a change, one I'm nervous about. I had a really hard time coming up with my personal statement to submit for the application. I ended up talking about how I used to envy the guys getting on the bus to go to Brooklyn College, when I felt like my life was going nowhere. Then I thought I found my direction with baseball, but now that might be a dead end. So I'm trying a new, uncharted road. Angela loved what I wrote, and I guess Ridgemont liked it, too, since they accepted me.

I'm very excited about it. And I'm excited about Angela having her own business, even if she's going to call it the Bower Agency.

"I know it seems strange, considering how unhappy my marriage to Michael was, and how unsupportive of my career he was compared to you. But that is the last name I'm known by in the advertising world. And I'm going to need to build on that."

Nice as it would be to see "The Micelli Agency" on the engraved sign and business cards and everything, I understand. I'd rather she be a success as Ms. Bower than a failure as Mrs. Micelli. I mean, matrimonially she's a success as Mrs. Micelli, and that's all I need.

While Angela has been working on the financial side, getting the start-up loan and all that, Mona and I have been scouting out an office and furniture. And today I'm taking her to see it. (Mona had an overnight date with Pop, so she'll meet us in Manhattan.)

"It's weird to be back on the commuter train," Angela observes.  
"Get used to it, Lady. You're going to be working 9 to 5 again."

She sighs. "And sometimes later. Tony, I may have to work even longer and harder, at least while the business is launched."

"It's like that with any 'baby.' A lot of work in the beginning, but it's all worth it." I don't say that this may put off our real baby. That was already a possibility with me going to college. We'll see how we feel on New Year's Eve I guess. And we said the '80s, so that's ten years of possible conception.

She squeezes my hand. "I know."

When we get to the building, I cover her eyes with my hand. I feel as excited as if this were a birthday surprise. The place is empty of course, since we can't actually move in the furniture until Angela approves of this suite. So it's a let-down for her, but I describe everything as I imagine it'll look.

"And over here, in the reception area, you'll have a knockout redhead for a secretary," I finish up.

"Oh, Mother, you'd do that for me?"

"Are you kidding? Dear, we'd kill each other in the first week."

"No, Angela, I asked your old secretary Rosie and she said she'd love to do it. She's miserable at Wallace & McQuade without you."  
"Oh, poor Rosie. Yes, I'd love to have her work for me." She looks around and then at me. "You really think she's a knockout?"

"Well, not bad for a redhead."

Each woman hits one of my shoulders, although Angela's gentle with the one that's healing.

We'll pick up the furniture tomorrow in my van. Today we work on cleaning up and discussing what colors to decorate in. I'm glad the Cards can't hear this. But then, most of them don't know that I spent the off-season as a housekeeper. I wonder what they'd make of me going to college. My friends in the old neighborhood teased me about it when I told them, but they're mostly supportive.

"Just don't think you're better than us," Philly said. "And don't correct our grammar."

"I ain't gonna do that," I said.

Mona takes the train back with us, but spends most of the time napping. (I get the impression she didn't get much sleep last night, although I'm not going to ask.) Angela and I hold hands and talk in whispers.

"So have you decided on your classes?"  
"Yeah, Speech, Philosophy, World History, and Art History."  
"Sounds like a full load."

I shrug, which doesn't hurt anymore, although I'm still a little stiff after three months. "Twelve units."

"Are you sure you can do school and take on the housework again?"

I snap my fingers. "A mere bag o' shells."

"But what about looking after the children?"

"Well, first grade gets out later than kindergarten, so that'll help. And as for Jonathan, I was thinking of the campus daycare."

"Oh. Um, yes, I guess we can budget for that."

"It's OK, Angela, don't worry about it. I asked about hardship cases—"

"Tony, we live in Oak Hills. Even with no money coming in, I wouldn't exactly describe us as poor."

"No, yeah, I know. They looked at our last year's combined income, so no dice there. However, it's a co-op, which means that if I work there for the same number of hours that Jonathan stays, it's completely free."

"Well, that's wonderful of you to offer but—"

"I know what you're gonna say. They won't want a man working there."

"Tony, I would never say something like that. I know how hard it is to have a job that people tell you you're the wrong sex for. And I know how wonderful you are with children, not just ours but their little friends. No, I was just thinking, you're taking twelve units, right?"

"Yeah." I thought of going for the max, eighteen, but I decided to ease into it.

"That's twelve hours a week for classes. So that means that you'd have to work another twelve to cover Jonathan's daycare. And then you have to figure at least another twelve for homework, especially with such serious subjects. And on top of that, you'd be doing the housework. I just think that's too much for you to take on."

"Well, when you put it that way." I guess I was just thinking of the twelve hours of class. "But, no, it'll be fine. I can do housework and homework at the same time, sometimes. Like reading while I'm cooking."

She looks dubious but kisses my cheek. "Well, let me know what I can do to help."  
I don't know that she can do all that much, when she's going to be busy launching her agency. But hopefully, it'll all work out. And maybe if enough money starts coming in, we can afford the daycare, or even hire another housekeeper. Especially if this is all going to take four or more years. Well, Jonathan will be in kindergarten in a couple years, so that'll make it easier.

"Hey, come on, we're a team."

I nod. I try not to think about the team I was on three months ago. Where are they all now? The guys hardly ever call or write anymore. I'm no longer one of them. When I watch their games on TV, it's like I'm just an ordinary fan.

But, yeah, it's different with Angela. We haven't been together that long. It's been less than a year since we met. But we've been through a lot. And we can count on each other. That means a lot. Not everybody has that, not even most of the other married couples I know. Like Angela's friend Isabel, whose husband Ben isn't crazy about her going to med school, even though they have a maid.

I bring Angela's hand to my lips and kiss it. "Thanks for recruiting me."


	11. Break

"You're joking, Rosie!"  
"No, Ms. Bower, I'm completely serious."

"She is," says a voice that must belong to the man I can't believe she said is waiting to see me. Phillip Drummond of Trans Allied, Inc., a mega-firm, and one of Wallace and McQuade's largest accounts. What's he doing here?

Well, it's not like I have anything else to do this morning, other than rack my brains trying to think of how to get some clients. Maybe that's why he's here. Maybe he's thought of someone he can recommend. But why would he show up in person? I never had direct dealings with him. I've never even met him before!

I wish my office was more impressive-looking. Oh, Mother did a fine job decorating. She has a flair for that sort of thing. It just doesn't look, well, lived-in. Not that I want a shabby office, but you can tell I only just moved in.

"Please send Mr. Drummond in, Rosie. Thank you."

I wish I looked more impressive. I'm very aware of being a young blonde woman. I feel like I'm a little girl playing dress-up. Since my old agency was large, I was one of a few vice-presidents. Now I'm the big and only fish in a very small pond.

Mr. Drummond turns out to be a tall, distinguished-looking but smiling man of about Mother's age. "Ms. Bower, we meet at last!"

"Uh, yes. My pleasure."

"I was very impressed with the campaign you designed for Trans Allied two years ago."

"Oh, thank you." That seems like another life now. Jonathan was a baby but I was working as hard as I could in order to prove myself. Sometimes I wonder what the point was. If I had quit when he was born, I'd be just as unemployed. But then I wouldn't have had as much experience, or savings. On the other hand, I would've spent more time with my son when he most needed me. But maybe I wouldn't have met Tony. There are so many ifs in life.

"I told Grant he was a fool to let you go."

I'm thrown for a minute, thinking he means romantically, but I don't think anyone outside of Wallace and McQuade knows about my flirtation with Grant. And it's not as if Grant were madly in love with me and would've wanted to fight Tony for me. I certainly wouldn't have wanted that!

But of course he means Grant letting me go from the agency. "Well, it was a difference of philosophy. I believe in hard work, but I don't believe in burning myself out."

"I completely agree."

"Well, thank you."

"And that's why I'd like to transfer my account from Wallace and McQuade to the Bower Agency."

I stare at him.

"No, I'm not joking."

"Mr. Drummond—"

"Phil."

"Phil. Angela." I shake my head. "I'm very flattered of course, but as you can see, my agency is very new and very small and I'm afraid that I can't offer you what a larger, more established agency could."

"Angela, this agency has the most creative person to ever work for Wallace and McQuade. Indeed, one of the most creative in the world of advertising. And just because I run a large company does not mean that I can't appreciate a small company. Also, not to brag, but having me as a client would give the Bower Agency a great deal of legitimacy and cachet, which would attract other clients."

"Well, if you're sure."

Now he shakes his head. "Angela, if you're going to be a success in advertising you're going to have to learn to sell yourself."

I blink.

"Sorry, I didn't mean that to sound like a come-on. I meant that as fatherly advice. You are bright, talented, and ambitious, but you need to develop your self-esteem."

"Yes, I know." I've never been very good at self-esteem.

"I realize that being fired has shaken your confidence—"

"Yes, it has. But it's not just that. My husband also lost his job. Or, well, we think he has."

"You think?"

I find myself spilling my guts to this stranger. He's very sympathetic. And he's seen Tony play and knows what a bright career Tony had.

"...Sometimes I think it'd almost be easier if they just said he's fired. But it's only been three and a half months and he's still healing. So they haven't said anything definite yet about next year. At least I know where I stand with Wallace and McQuade and I can move on, build a new life, scary as that is. Tony just started college this week, so it's all so new to him, and he doesn't have any specific plans if the Cardinals don't want him back."

"I see. It must be rough on your family financially as well as emotionally."

"Yes, it is. I mean, we're not starving of course, but, well, we'll probably have to let our housekeeper go." I know Tony's friends would find that funny, since none of them have servants. But for someone like me, it is a big step down in class and I know how the neighbors will react. (So far, there are no obvious signs of our financial difficulties. We haven't even sold off my Jag. It's just that Tony and I are home much more than we used to be.) And I'm sure a man as wealthy as Mr. Drummond would understand that it is a sacrifice. He probably has a dozen servants, or more.

"What a coincidence. I've recently lost my housekeeper."

I look at him in surprise.

"She's taken a job as a house mother at the Eastland School for Girls."

"Oh, yes, I know Eastland." That's where Isabel went. "I hear it's a wonderful school."

"It is. My daughter Kimberly is a day student there." He takes out his wallet. "May I show you her picture?"

"Of course."

He shows me a picture of a sweet-faced girl of about 15. "Very pretty."

"Thank you. She takes after her mother. And these are my two sons, Willis and Arnold." He flips over to a picture of two black boys, the older about 14 and serious-looking, the other maybe 8, with cute, chubby cheeks.

"You have a lovely family."

"Thank you. And thank you for not questioning why my sons are black."

I do wonder but maybe he or his wife is mixed. And it's none of my business really.

"They're the sons of my previous housekeeper. Mrs. Jackson was a widow and she asked me to look after her children when she died. It's been an adjustment this past year, since we didn't know each other well at first, but I think we're really a family now."

He says it nonchalantly, as if this is what any employer would do. If something, God forbid, had happened to Tony when he was my housekeeper and if he had asked me to take care of Sam, I would've of course, even if he were "just my housekeeper." But I quickly grew fond of that little girl. And obviously I can relate to blending families.

"And your wife, has it been an adjustment for her?"

"I'm a widower."

I have a moment of considering fixing him up with Mother, but she's got enough on her plate, and frankly he seems too nice a man to have to deal with her idiosyncrasies. I do, however, think of a more platonic form of matchmaking.

"Phil, would you be interested in hiring my housekeeper? She's very good and I hate to think of her not finding another job after I have to let her go."

"Are you sure? I mean, business might pick up, especially if I throw some clients your way."

"I'm sure. Things are too uncertain and my family can manage without a housekeeper for awhile." If Tony's shoulder recovers enough that he can play baseball again, well, we'll revisit this. But for now, I think it's for the best.

"In that case."

He gives me the address of his penthouse suite on Park Avenue. It turns out he doesn't have any other servants, and Mrs. Garrett hasn't left yet, but she's getting ready to. I think Adelaide will fit in just fine there, and I don't think she'll complain about leaving my house for an apartment, not in this case. Of course, she might not hit it off with Mr. Drummond and his children, but they all seem like nice people, so I'll hope for the best.

Of course, he didn't come in here seeking a replacement housekeeper. We discuss what he's looking for in a new campaign, and we draw up a contract. I feel very lucky. Money will be coming in. Not enough to cover the start-up expenses and everything else, probably not even Jonathan's daycare, but things look much less bleak than they did.

After he leaves, I call Tony with the good news.

"Hey, how come you didn't offer me as a housekeeper? How do you know I don't want to live on Park Avenue?"

"Sorry, Buster, we've got a lifelong contract." Of course, I as well as anyone know that the marital contract can be broken.

"True. Plus there are some incredible perks and fringe benefits."

Only Tony can be suggestive in quite that way. I wish I could go home early, but he's got homework and I've got a campaign to work on.


	12. Circle

**Author's Note: The daycare director's first name is courtesy of Anonymous Guest/ readingfrenzy, a prize for the 200th review on "Stays in Vegas."**

...

"OK, Jonathan, now it's Joshua's turn to play with the Snoopy doll."

I try to treat my stepson the same as I do the other kids here, but it's not always easy. I am enjoying this though. Yeah, I'm a bit tired from classes, homework, housework, and this. (Not to mention I've rejoined the Parents' Association, although Joanne blocked my becoming treasurer again since I bailed on them for Spring training in February.) But it's not like I'm a teacher or anything. I'm mostly playing with the kids, including sports, which was one reason that the daycare director, Rhoda Sunshine, decided to hire a man, as well as to "balance the yin and yang energy."

School is going good, sorry, well. I have been trying to be more careful in how I speak and otherwise communicate these days. My Speech professor is very strict but I'm learning a lot, a great deal. And Angela admitted to me that she wouldn't hire me for her agency if I applied, because my English isn't good enough. (Yeah, sorry, yes, her secretary Rosie is as New York as I am, but she can also carry off a posh "receptionist" voice for clients.) I was hurt but I did appreciate her honesty. That's the thing about us. We can be honest with each other. We're also best friends, as well as husband and wife.

I went through a phase where I was correcting my friends' grammar, which made a trip to the old neighborhood pretty painful for everyone. I finally realized I was going overboard. And I thought of how Angela leads by example. She didn't send Rosie to a Speech class. She just gave her something to model. So now I try to think about how I say things but I don't get crazy about it. Even Angela will say "yeah" sometimes.

My Philosophy class is probably the most intellectually challenging, but it turns out I like being intellectually challenged. I feel like there's this whole world of ideas that I'm only now finding out about, but I have the whole rest of my life to explore. I think even if I do go back to playing baseball, I'm going to take classes in the off season again. I have no idea what degree I'd end up with, but there's something nice about knowledge for the sake of knowledge. Not just information, dry facts like in high school, but real thoughts.

My favorite class is probably World History. There are a lot of facts—lots of, many, dates and names to memorize—but I also like thinking about how people impact each other. And it actually helps me put my life in perspective. Not just that I'm only one man who will change the world only in small ways, but also that someone can have everything, like the Roman Empire, and then lose it. Whole countries can be on top and then at the bottom a century, or maybe a year, later. Not that you shouldn't try, but it's OK to "fail," because even failure is an accomplishment, if that makes sense. And even if I have lost my baseball career, I still have a wonderful life where I can try new things.

The other class is Art History. This teaches me sort of the opposite lesson, that you can leave behind a legacy that will long outlive you. All these beautiful (or, in the case of the modern stuff, interesting) works of art still speak to people, although not necessarily in the same way they originally did. I'd really like to see some of the works in person. Angela and I have talked about traveling to Europe when money isn't as tight, but I wonder if we'd find the time. And would it be a second honeymoon or would we take the kids along? The kids are too young to appreciate art, but there are other things we could show them. I'd especially love to take everyone to Italy, introduce them to my extended family, like Uncle Aldo and Aunt Rosa.

Well, maybe someday. For now, this is my life. I'm doing what I can to get an education, be an example to the kids (ours and now the ones at the campus daycare), and emotionally support my hard-working wife. I don't cook as elaborate meals as I did last winter, but I still try to make sure the family is well nourished.

I don't do the coffee klatsch as often as I did a year ago, when I'd first started as Angela's housekeeper. It is different now that I'm a, I guess the term is househusband. The "other girls" see me differently now, since they know I'm not doing this for a living. Plus, I have even less time to sit around and eat baked goods and drink coffee.

I haven't really made any friends at school yet. Again, I'm mostly too busy for a social life. Plus, almost everyone is younger than I am, despite what Angela said about other people going back to school at my age or older. I'm probably the only freshman who's been married twice.

And I can't really bond with the housewives in Fairfield, because most of them lead such different lives than I do. Sometimes I think about John Lennon. He'd already built up a legacy by the time he was my age. And then a few years later he gave it up to be a househusband, to bake bread and raise his younger son. Thing is, he's rich. He doesn't need to worry about the future. He never has to work again, either to support himself and his family, or to contribute to the musical world. It's all taken care of.

Sometimes I envy that. But on the other hand, this is gonna, sorry, going to sound crazy, but I feel lucky to have uncertainty in my life. Yeah, it's scary sometimes. Both Angela and I have lost sleep the last four months, not knowing what's going to become of us. It's extra scary when you're a parent, because then you think _I can't be a bum. I've got kids to provide for._ Still, as Angela said the other day, we're not in a rut. We would like more stability next year, but this year hasn't been terrible. We still all have each other, and that's the important thing.

Also, let's say I'd never been injured. Imagine that Angela hadn't been fired. Would we necessarily be any happier than we are now? She would be equally or maybe more stressed, but it would be for the benefit of Grant and the other idiots at Wallace and McQuade. And, yes, I miss playing baseball, and I would love not to have this scar on my shoulder, but I don't think I would be able to reinvent myself as I have the chance to now. I would just be a ball-player, and someday I'd be an ex-ball-player.

Well, not that I'm not now. But it's not all of who I am. And as I take a bunch of kids outside to play catch, they don't know that I'm probably an ex-Cardinal, and even if I were still on the team, they wouldn't care. I'm just Mr. Tony to them, the daycare worker with the biggest muscles. And that's not a bad thing to be twelve hours a week.


	13. Climbing the Ladder

And to think that I thought at one point that having my own business would be less stressful than working for other people. It's not that I have no clients. In fact, with Trans Allied, Inc., and some other accounts, things were looking up. But that meant I was a potential threat, and Jim Peterson couldn't have that.

He thinks I stole Trans Allied, in the sense that I used my sneakiness and perhaps my feminine wiles to lure Philip Drummond away from Wallace and McQuade. I doubt he'd believe that Phil came to the Bower Agency of his own accord. So apparently Jim felt perfectly justified in having his new secretary call up my newest client, Jorgensen of Jog in the Road running shoes, pretending to be Rosie, and claiming that I wanted to meet at a different restaurant than we'd agreed upon. Then the client of course thought I'd stood him up, and Jim showed up with a whole campaign prepared!

That's not all. Mother thought it would give my agency class if we had our own limo. So, without discussing it with me first, she rented one! Yes, at least she didn't buy one, but it's still $600/month.

I simply don't have enough clients to justify that. She claimed that it would add class just sitting in front of the building, but I pointed out that it's a no-parking zone. So she bought a chauffeur's cap and she's offering limo service throughout Connecticut. I doubt she can make the money back, but it seems to amuse her, so what the hell.

I've decided to take the afternoon off and go shopping. I know, I should be saving my money, but this isn't just for my own comfort. Sam again wants to have the family dress up for Halloween, although with Grandpa Matty rather than Grandpa Nick. This year's theme: _Grease_. I know, Sam is far too young to have seen it, but I guess Mrs. Rossini took her without knowing that, after Marie died and while Tony was on the road. Apparently, all the innuendos and everything went right over Sam's head. She just loves the music and thinks the '50s look like fun. (Which they were, when I was her age.)

This time, Sam didn't even let us choose our characters, not that we have any complaint about the casting. Well, with the exception of Matty, who will be Teen Angel although she was going to have him play Kenickie, since he argued that he's closer to Frankie Avalon's age than Jeff Conaway's. Mother didn't at all object that she was too old to be assigned Rizzo (with a short dark wig). No, Sam wasn't thinking of the promiscuity of course; she just thinks Rizzo is the funniest. Tony and I are, no surprise, Danny and Sandy. I wondered at first who Sam would choose for herself, but she went with Frenchy because she wants to have pink hair. And Jonathan? Coach Calhoun, which means we don't have to worry about making his hair into a pompadour.

Mother has teased me about whether I'm going with the wholesome version of Sandy or the "bad girl" look at the end. Considering that I managed to turn Tony on while wearing a Glinda costume last year, I think I'll just stick to the bobby-sox version. I don't really expect Bloomingdale's or my usual haunts to have poodle skirts, but I might find a sweater or something I could wear.

Tony's costume shouldn't be too challenging, since what he wore in Brooklyn in the '60s isn't all that different from what teens wore in the '50s, and I'm sure he'll look very sexy in a black T-shirt and jeans. To be honest, sometimes I think Brooklyn is stuck in a '50s time warp anyway, especially when it comes to gender roles.

Of course, I say that and here I am doing the very girly thing of shopping. But it's with money I've earned, or hope to earn anyway.

And I end up not spending anything because someone pages me! I hope the children are all right. Or maybe Tony strained his shoulder somehow, carrying too many textbooks or playing too rough with the kids at daycare.

It turns out it's Tony himself who paged me. "Angela, I need you to see something."

"Can't it wait?"

"No, sorry, it can't."

So I let him lead me out of Bloomy's and to his van. He takes me to the parking spot nearest to my agency.

"Is Rosie all right?"

"Yeah, she's fine. Everyone's fine."

Comforted but confused, I follow him upstairs. And no one and nothing is there but Rosie and her desk.

"What's going on, Rosie?"

"Please be patient, Ms. Bower."

I try to be. And then a moment later, Mother comes in, in her chauffeur's outfit (yes, now a whole outfit, not just a cap), leading in Mr. Jorgensen!

"You tricked me, Red! You said you were sent by Wallace and McQuade."

"That woman over there is the heart, soul, and most importantly brains of Wallace and McQuade, Angela Bower."

"The Bower who stood me up?"

"Mr. Jorgensen, did the secretary who told you about the restaurant switch sound like this?" Rosie starts out with her usual thick New York accent but changes midway to her phone voice.

"No, nothing like either."

"Then it wasn't me."

Tony asks, "Mr. Jorgensen, didn't it seem suspicious to you that Jim Peterson just happened to show up with a full campaign for you?"

"Well, yes, I suppose but—Excuse me, who are you?"

"Ms. Bower's husband."  
"Well, Mr. Bower—"

I can see Tony looks a little uncomfortable about the natural mistake. He's fine about my using my previous married name in business. And ironically, he prefers I go by "Ms." instead of "Mrs." because then it seems less like a married name. But he does not like being called "Mr. Bower." He got some junk mail addressed like that the other day, and he kept complaining about it all through the dinner he cooked. I suppose the fact that he's back to doing the housework, as well as working in daycare, doesn't help his male pride, much as he loves doing both. And, yes, I do what I can to make him feel more like a man, and I don't just mean opening jam jars. (Although he is great at that, with those forearms and wrists.)

"Dear, why don't you show Mr. Jorgensen the campaign you designed?"

"Yes, Mother."

Mr. Jorgensen looks at us as if wondering if we're all related. But I don't care if this seems like a mom & pop operation. I can still run a top-notch campaign, even with my one-woman business. I know, one woman who gets a lot of support from her family.

Of course, that doesn't mean I want to keep renting the limo. But maybe I'll pay for Mother's chauffeur outfit, since I'm sure she'll get use out of it somehow. (I don't want the details.) As for Tony, I really would like to reward him. I mean, besides the usual reward.


	14. Tryout

"I'm real sorry, Tony."

I shrug. At least that doesn't hurt anymore, although my shoulder doesn't have its old flexibility, after six months of healing.

"Coach, you're not telling me anything I didn't already suspect."

"Maybe you could try out for another team in the winter. Or maybe do a few years in the minors again."

I don't want to deal with the humiliation of that. What if I'm not even good enough for the minors now? And if I were, I just can't see doing the whole life on the road thing again for just the minors. It was different last time. First I was single and then I was married and before long I was a dad. But I had the hope of getting into the majors before Sam was in school. Now I'm more of a settled family man, with two kids. And no real hope of the majors this time.

"Thanks for giving me a tryout, Coach."

"Of course. Best of luck to you, whatever you end up doing. Ya bum."

I nod and smile a little. I know he means that in, well, not a kind way, but as close as he gets to sentimental. I don't know what I'll end up doing. And, yeah, that's exciting in some ways, but I guess I hoped more than I admitted that I'd end up back on the team, and I wouldn't really have to decide on something new.

The Mets let us have the tryout at Shea, which meant going back to the scene of the, I almost said the crime. The scene of the accident. Maybe not a good omen, if you believe in that sort of thing. But, hey, New York is my home, well, one of them.

And now I've got to drive back to Connecticut. It's the weekend, so no point in heading to the Bower Agency. Angela is home with the kids. Poor Sam's gonna be heartbroken when she finds out. Baseball has been such a big part of our lives. Yeah, she likes having her daddy around all the time, but I know she was proud that her old man was a pro ball player.

Old man. I'm 27 and it feels like my life is over. I know, I know, I've got all these things to live for. Angie and the kids and everything. But suddenly I'm back where I was five or six months ago, wondering who I am if I'm not a Cardinal.

I expect to find the kids downstairs but instead there's just Angela and a good-looking guy! He's packing up an easel and paints.

"Oh, hi, Tony, this is Christos Demos. Um, he's working on one of my campaigns."

She sounds guilty but I don't want to jump to conclusions. I don't ask why he's not painting whatever he's painting at her agency, or his studio, instead. It crosses my mind that maybe he's doing a painting of her for me. I guess I should be glad it's not a nude painting. Well, not that I wouldn't like one, but I don't like the idea of him seeing her naked. (And, yes, I see a lot of nudes in Art History, but that's different. Most of those women have been dead for decades or even centuries.)

"Christos, this is my husband, Tony Micelli."

In a Greek accent, he says, "Micelli. That sounds familiar." I wait for him to say something about the Cardinals, but instead he says, "Angela tells me you are from Brooklyn. Are you any relation to Marie Micelli?"

I swallow. "Yeah, my first wife was named Marie."

"Ah, yes. I gave her art lessons a couple years ago."

I'm about to say that that's impossible, but then I remember that she told me she wanted to have some and I just laughed at her and said it'd be a waste of time. Did she take them behind my back when I was on the road? What else did she do behind my back?

"Was she good?" I say hoarsely.

"She had potential."

"Well, thank you, Christos, for coming to Connecticut today. I'll be in touch about the final product."

"Of course, Ms. Bower. I mean Mrs. Micelli."

After he leaves, I try to stop myself from hurling accusations by asking, "Where are the kids?"

"Playing upstairs."

Then I can't help it, I say, "If you were going to do this, Angela, could you at least have had the decency to not do it in our house, with the kids here?"

She pales. "Do what?"

"You know." My voice drops to a whisper but I can't say it as ugly as I'm thinking it. "Fool around."

"Fool around? With Christos?" She laughs.

I scowl. "Come on, the guy's obviously going after all the Mrs. Micellis he can get his hands on."

She shakes her head. "You're insane, you know that? Here I've been telling Wendy and Isabel that you're not the typical jealous Italian man, and then you come up with a crazy accusation like that. It's an insult not only to me but to Marie, whom, although I of course never met her, I'm willing to bet never even kissed another man!"

"Yeah? That shows what you know. She kissed Anthony Camissa at a New Year's party in high school."

"That hussy!"

I shake my head. Maybe I am being crazy. But I still get the feeling that she's lying to me about why he was here.

"OK, fine, I was going to surprise you next week, but here." She hands me a scrap of paper.

I open it and see a drawing of her and the kids. "What's this?"

"A preliminary sketch for the group portrait Christos is doing."

I look at it more closely. "This is really good. I mean, I can tell he did it quickly, but he's talented."

"Yes, he is. I hope you'll like my anniversary gift."

Anniversary. Right. Next Friday it'll be a year since our Thanksgiving wedding, the one we did for friends and family, since no one we knew was at the Vegas wedding a couple months earlier. With everything else going on, and considering all the anniversaries we have, I'd kind of forgotten about it.

And then I think more about what this picture is of. My family. My wife and kids. "I think I'll love your gift. Even though I don't deserve it."

She kisses my cheek. "Of course you do. You've been so wonderful and supportive of all of us. A moment of craziness doesn't cancel that out."

"Well, thank you."

"Tony, what happened at the tryout?"

I look down. "They don't want me no more." I know that's ungrammatical. My Speech professor would be horrified. But sometimes I have to speak the way I feel. The vernacular is more expressive.

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks."

"Tony, did you feel like I didn't want you anymore?"

I look at her again. "I don't know what I was feeling, or thinking. It's just." I sigh. "I've lost a lot in the last couple years. My career. Marie. Yeah, I've got you, and maybe I'll find something new to do with my life. But what if I lose that? Or you?"

She comes closer and hugs me. "Tony, I don't know what the future will be. But I do know what it's like to lose things, to lose people. It is scary. But right now, and really ever since I met you, I've been braver. Yes, I run away from things sometimes, but you give me the courage and the support to face them eventually. You believe in me. You see my potential, not my limits. And you're that way with the children, too. I wish you could be that way with yourself."

"Yeah, but unfortunately, I know I'm just a bum." I try to joke but my voice is shaky.

She doesn't tell me I'm being silly. She just holds me. I pull her tighter, taking comfort in her warmth, her softness, her subtle strength. I was always afraid of being weak with other women, but I've never been able to hide any side of myself from Angela.

To my surprise, an erection springs to life. "Sorry," I murmur.

"Oh, Tony, I wish we could make love, but the children are awake."  
"Yeah, but they're upstairs, right?"

"Yes, but." I can see she's tempted and I know that neither of us wants to wait till tonight, when they're asleep, like usual. "Let's go to my den."

"Yeah? But that's your work space."

"We won't make a habit of it. But I think we need to go there now."

I nod. What else can we do? We can't fool around in the living room or the kitchen, because the kids might come downstairs or Mona or somebody might drop by, without calling or even knocking.

We let go but then she takes my hand and leads me to her den, like I don't know where it is, like I don't clean in there all the time.

The sex is fast and hungry, but soothing. We can be more leisurely tonight. Maybe she's propping up my "fragile male ego," but I don't think that's all this is about. I think it's also about the two of us clinging to the most certain thing in our lives: our love for each other. And, yeah, she showed me love in how she treated me in the living room, but I also need the physical love. I need to offer it, too, especially when I'm not sure anymore what else I've got to offer as a man, as a husband.

She cleans herself in the downstairs bathroom while I head up to the shower.

"Daddy?"

"Tony?"

"Just a minute, Kids. I've got to wash up after playing ball."

"Didn't they let you shower at Shea?"

Damn, I hate having such a smart daughter!

"I didn't have time," I say, which doesn't make much sense, but then I disappear into the bathroom, so she can't argue.

By the time I'm ready to face the kids, they're on the floor of Sam's room, playing with Tinkertoys, as Angela explains, "So now he knows about the painting, and we don't have to keep that secret anymore."

"Good," is all Jonathan says, but then he's a man of few words.

"Do we still have to sit still for a long time?"

"Yes, just for a couple times more."  
"Well, I guess for Daddy, it's worth it."

"Make Tony happy," Jonathan says.  
God, they do! My family makes me happier than I deserve, and I hope they never stop.


	15. Pitchers

God, I can't stand that girl! She reminds me of my older sister Marcia. You know, brainy and beautiful and conceited as hell. No, actually she's worse than Marcia, because Marcia isn't that arrogant and she can consider other people's thoughts and feelings. My boyfriend Danny calls Kathleen "Little Miss I Have a Better Idea."

I like Art History otherwise. I've always been interested in art. There was a point when I was trying to find "my talent," and I auditioned for the role of a starving artist in a school play. I bombed the audition, but the Drama teacher in junior high also taught Art, and she really liked the painting I did to get into character. I thought for awhile about becoming an artist, but I don't think I have that level of talent. Plus, my stepfather is an architect and I interned at his company one summer. (My brother, well, stepbrother, Greg had done that years before but just to save up money for a car. He's a terrible artist and when he tried to do a design a couple years after that, apparently it was very Frank Lloyd Wrong.) Anyway, Dad is proud that I'm majoring in Architectural Design.

The family was surprised that I wanted to go to a little college in New England, instead of somewhere at home in sunny southern California. But, although I love my parents and siblings (even Marcia), I've always been ambivalent about being part of the family. There was a point when I wanted to be an only child, and sometimes I got tired of being the middle girl. Having my own separate identity is important to me. And anyway, I'm only a sophomore, so it doesn't really matter where I take my general education classes. So why not Connecticut?

But I do get homesick sometimes. I mean, it's beautiful here and the people are nice, but they are different. Maybe that was why I was drawn to Danny, my fellow Californian refugee, although San Pueblo is up the coast, near the San Francisco Bay, not down in the Valley like my hometown. And, yeah, he's a middle child, even more than I am, since there are five kids in his family.

We also have in common that our families used to be musical acts, although the Brady Six (AKA The Silver Platters) were nowhere near the level of the Partridge Family. Our band broke up when Greg went off to college and surprised us all by becoming Pre-Med. (He's in med school now.) The Partridges gradually fell off the charts, although they still get residuals. Danny's older brother Keith still does some solo performances, but he's moved to more behind the scenes. And his older sister Laurie is in law school, which is as big a surprise to them as Greg's career choice was to us.

(Marcia's into fashion design, since she has artistic talent, too, though in her case it's taken a more, well, frivolous form. My brother Peter, the closest to my age, doesn't know what to do with himself. He's a sweet guy, but he's always been a screw-up. No, really, at 20 he holds the family record for most jobs lost. My younger brother and sister, Bobby and Cindy, are still in high school and don't have any practical goals yet. He wants to be a race-car driver and she wants to be a d.j.!)

Anyway, Danny is a redhead and completely speaks his mind, so I noticed him right off. He's even more practical than I am. At the age of 10, he was the unofficial financial manager of the Partridges as an act, and he's of course a business major now. Yet he has a thoroughly filthy sense of humor, which was shocking to me at first, because my family is really wholesome. (His family is sort of clean-cut hippie if that makes sense.) But he's funny, so I don't know. I wouldn't say it's exactly opposites attract, because like I said, we have stuff in common.

When I asked if he wanted to take Art History with me, he asked, "Will there be nudes?" Now, I'm sure other guys would be thinking it, but only Danny would've just come right out and said it like that. So I said, "Probably." And then he ended up complaining every week that none of them were as good-looking as me, which I guess is flattering. (And, yes, everybody back home thinks I'm still a virgin, just because I had no serious boyfriends in high school.)

Anyway, the semester is drawing to a close and it's time to get ready for the finals. Tony, the oldest guy in our class—who's not super old, but he is in his late 20s I guess, since he's married with two little kids—suggested forming a study group. Danny and I were up for it, but then Kathleen barged in. She didn't ask whether or not she was welcome, and Tony's too nice a guy to say no.

And then once Kathleen joined, then of course Billy Tate did. He's a high school senior from Dunn's River, this little town near Hartford. He's a good enough student to get into a program where he can take a couple college classes at Ridgemont. The guy is a total virgin. He blushes at the nudes! But he's kind of sweet, and I feel sorry for him because he's got this crush on Kathleen. She's only a year older but she's a lot more sophisticated than he is. Not that he's dumb (his mom is kind of a space case, I met her tonight), but he is naïve. And he follows Kathleen around like a little puppy.

If I could figure out a way to get Cindy to visit me, I'd fix them up, because she's 16 and nicer in every way than Kathleen is. (She used to be kind of spoiled because she was the youngest and an adorable little girl in curls, but around the time she lost her lisp she stopped acting like a fairy princess.)

The Art History exam is the day after tomorrow, so Tony suggested we all meet at his house to study, since we could set up the slide projector and not worry about having to end early, like if we met in a classroom or the library. I don't know his whole story, but he seems to be a former baseball player who got seriously injured a few months ago, but not before he married one of the few female advertising executives in the country. And then she lost her job but started her own ad agency, which is doing OK, in the black after a few months.

They're an interesting couple, definitely opposites attract, but completely devoted to each other, I mean on the level of my mom and dad. (And like them, both married before, although Tony's wife is divorced rather than widowed.) It's sweet. I'd like to have something like that someday. I mean, I like Danny a lot, but he's not exactly husband material. Not that I'm looking to marry young. Heck, even Marcia isn't married yet, despite all the boyfriends she's had. But someday, yeah, it'd be nice.

Their kids, cute little seven-year-old girl (his), cute little three-year-old boy (hers), both went over to the girl's best friend's house so that the friend's mom can look after them tonight. Our study group can get kind of noisy, yelling out answers, which is another reason we didn't really want to go to the library. This way the kids can get some sleep, and Tony (who seems to be the main caretaker) can focus on studying.

As for his wife, she's supposed to be meeting with some record company execs in New York. Like I said, they're an interesting couple, different. My mom hasn't really worked outside the home much, even though we have a maid. (And Tony sort of was a maid, well, a housekeeper, before he married Mrs. Micelli.) Mom has a job in real estate now, but our house is emptier than it used to be. I think I'd like to be a working mom, but then I don't really want a big family, maybe just one kid. It's not like my kid won't have plenty of cousins after all. And maybe I could work from home, like Dad sometimes does.

Kathleen showed up late but instead of apologizing, she proceeded to annoy most of us. Well, Billy offered her a seat by him and said that she looked nice.

She said, "Thanks, Billy, but after waiting tables for the last eight hours, I'm not exactly feeling like Susan Anton."

She of course looks perfect. But she has this way of dressing that seems like it's effortless, but you can tell she spends time on it. "Cool casual" I think is what Marcia said the modeling agencies call it. Marcia can pull it off, too, of course, although she's a designer rather than a model.

Kathleen is an Army brat, emphasis on "brat." In her case, it seems to have prevented her from developing most people skills. I mean, guys like Billy go for her, but she gets on the nerves of most people, almost always saying the wrong thing. And I know, I'm not coming across as the queen of tact, but believe me, one lesson I learned growing up in my family is to not voice everything you're thinking. Most people think I'm the shy, quiet type (especially when I wear glasses), although Danny saw through that pretty quickly to my more cynical side.

Kathleen is 18 and, despite being so opinionated, has no major. She's good at telling other people what to do, but I don't get the impression she's great at making her own decisions.

Tony is a freshman, too, but that's because he grew up kind of poor in Brooklyn and then got into pro ball and, well, I guess this is his first chance at higher education. He's got a silly, goofy sense of humor, but he can also be really serious and driven.

He and Kathleen start arguing about what to cover right now, even though I can tell that he's got his slides organized in a certain way. And then Tony's wife comes in with the two guys from the record company, and he leaps to his feet.

"Angela, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, is this the night your study group is over?"

Danny and I look at each other, like who else could we be? But we make it a policy to stay out of other people's fights, something we learned growing up as middle children.

"Yeah, it is. What are you doing here?"

"Well, John and Peter—um, Everyone, this is John Petrie and Peter Gerber of Encanto Records."

"Please, no applause," says one of the guys, John I guess.

Danny gives him a pity laugh, which is worse than no laugh.

"Anyway, John, Peter, and I were going to listen to some tapes in my den. But I don't want to interfere with your studying."  
"Look, why don't we just head back into the city and listen to the tapes at the studio?" the other guy, Peter, suggests.

"Um, I guess that would be all right," says Mrs. Micelli.

"Gee, Angie, I appreciate it." Tony gives her this look, I don't know how to describe it, but even my parents aren't that mushy. It's like witnessing people kissing, only somehow more intimate because they're not touching but clearly want to.

She returns the look. "Of course, Tony. I want you to do well."

Suddenly, I feel like we should all clear out of there, record execs and study group alike, and let these two, who've only been married a year after all, be alone. But I do want to pass Art History, and no one's asked me to leave.

So Danny, Billy, Kathleen, and I stay for a few hours. But I start to feel overwhelmed by all the dates and names. What I love about art is the art itself, the look of it, the themes, how it's created. Not so much the nitty-gritty facts. And both Danny and Billy look like they're falling asleep.

"Um, is it midnight yet?" Billy asks, suddenly shaking himself. "I've got a curfew."

"Come on, Tate, I'll drive you home," Danny offers.

"Yeah, I think I'll head out, too," I say.

Tony says, "Hey, that's not a good idea, Guys. We've got 36 hours to cover 200 years of art."

Kathleen says, "Don't you want to get A's on your final?" Ugh, see what I mean? So annoying! Like the only way we can get A's is to study like this, when our brains are going numb.

"Well, maybe we could meet tomorrow," Billy says nervously.

"No, I think we need to keep it going, not interrupt the flow."

"You keep flowing, Kathleen, but my brain works better with sleep," I say, making Danny grin. I really do need to go. I can't censor myself when I'm this tired.

I brought my own car, as did Danny. Billy's mom dropped him off. I wish I could spend the night with Danny, but it's an hour's drive to Dunn's River, and anyway we wouldn't get much sleep. Hopefully, we can spend some more time together between finals and going home to California. I can't really imagine having him at a Brady Christmas. Well, maybe I'll visit him in San Pueblo at New Year's if I can.

I feel sorry leaving Tony alone with Kathleen. They'll probably argue all night, or at least till his wife comes home. But he's a grown man and, like I said, I try not to get mixed up in other people's business if I can help it.


	16. Batter

"Oh, God, is that the time?"

"Midnight?" John says. "Yeah, the night's just getting started."

"Well, maybe for the rock & roll crowd—"

"Hey, come on, Angela, you're pretty rockin' for a businesswoman," Peter says.

"Well, thank you. I may have a rock & roll soul, but I'm afraid I have a 9 to 5 schedule. And I've got a meeting tomorrow morning. And I've got to get back to Connecticut tonight."

"Do you?" John asks.  
I blink. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, isn't your husband pulling an all-night study session?" Peter says. "And you said your kids are doing a sleepover. So why not just stay here?"

"In New York?" I suppose I could book a hotel room, although I would miss sleeping beside Tony, even if it was just for a few hours. We haven't been apart since he left the hospital in June.

"Well, here in the studio actually," John says.

I look around me at the sound system and everything. Do they expect me to sleep on the stool that the guitarists sit on?

They both laugh. Then Peter says, "There's a nice little bedroom for the musicians."

I look at him. I am not sleeping in a bed used by musicians and maybe groupies!

He laughs and says, "Not like that. Sometimes there are all-night recording sessions and one of the musicians might want to nap for awhile."

"And there's a bathroom with a shower in case you want to freshen up in the morning."  
"But I didn't bring anything to sleep in." Or to change into tomorrow.

"No problem," Peter says, and he throws me a T-shirt promoting Candy Blade and the Sour Patch Kids, a punk rock group I assume.

"Um, thank you. Is there a phone I could use? I don't want Tony to worry about me."

"Yeah, use the one in my office," John offers. "Just dial seven for an external call.

"Thank you."

I head to John's office and pick up the phone. I'm sorry to interrupt Tony's studying, if the group is still going, but on the other hand I know he'd wonder why I didn't come home. I'm not even sure if I will stay. If he says he can't sleep without me, then I'll call a taxi next and head home as soon as I can. On the other hand, if I'm going to be sleeping alone while the five of them yell out "Munch, Monet, and Manet!", then I might as well sleep here.

I dial our number, with the seven in front. It rings twice and then I say, "Hi, Tony. It's me."

"I'm sorry, Tony can't come to the phone right now." I can't place the voice at first. It's a little throaty and sultry, but young. Like Lauren Bacall in _To Have and Have Not_. I wonder if I have the wrong number, a wrong number to someplace where another Tony lives. Then she asks, "Is this Mrs. Micelli?"

"Uh, yes, who are you?"

"Oh, sorry, this is Kathleen, from Tony's study group."

I remember two blonde girls, one very girl-next-door, the other not. I have the feeling this is the not.

"Oh, hi, Kathleen. Um, can you tell Tony that things are running late at the studio and the guys, John and Peter, have invited me to stay here?"

"Oh, yeah, no problem. You wouldn't get much sleep here anyway, with us studying all night."

"Yeah, right. OK, thank you." I hang up abruptly. I have a weird feeling about this. Why didn't Tony come to the phone? What was he busy with? And why did this girl answer the phone?

Then I remember how I told Tony a couple weeks ago that his jealousy over Christos was insane. Tony was probably fixing everyone snacks in the kitchen and had his hands deep in batter or something equally messy. And he asked one of the kids (I know they're only a decade or so younger than I am, but they're kids to me) in the living room to answer the phone for him. And so this girl, Kathleen, did.

If I go rushing back to Connecticut because of needless jealousy, I'll only make a fool of myself. And it won't exactly help Tony with his Art final.

I go back to the studio.

"All set?" Peter asks.

I nod. They play me another tape. I need to hear a variety of their groups to get a sense of how to promote the company. I never had an account like this at Wallace and McQuade, which was more staid and conservative.

But I am pushing thirty and it's getting late, so after an hour the guys (who are a little older than I am but dress and talk younger) take pity on me and suggest we call it a night. I can come by again in a couple days, when my schedule's clear.

They show me where the bedroom and bathroom are. I see clean sheets and pillowcases, fresh towels, and a toothbrush still in the plastic wrap. I've stayed in hotels with fewer amenities, although not recently. (Michael said it was part of the adventure. Other than the night we conceived Jonathan in a two-man sleeping bag, I generally did not like roughing it.)

The guys bid me goodnight and say that they'll let the night watchman know I'm here and shouldn't be disturbed. I don't know if it's comforting or not that I won't be entirely alone in this big, dark building. I wish I were home.

But I'm very sleepy and I do want to at least nap before going anywhere. I'll do my best to shut off my mind.

It's a single bed, which I'm not used to. Even when Michael and then Tony were away for work, I'd lie in my big marital bed alone, waiting for my husband to come home from his travels. I wonder if Tony will get any sleep tonight. He's never been in my bed without me. But I'd certainly rather imagine him lying there alone than having company.

I remind myself that nothing can happen when there are those three other students there. And that girl, Kathleen, she can't help what voice she has, can she? Or that she's eighteen and has a body that has never carried a child.

I tell myself that I'll be home for dinner in less than eighteen hours. Tony will greet me at the door with a very dry martini, straight up with two olives, and a kiss. He'll tell me how much he missed me and that he can't wait till finals are over, so we can spend more time together. He'll make one of my favorite meals. And the kids will have all their little stories saved up, about school and daycare and how it was to do another sleepover at the Fergusons'.

That is my life, not some soap opera full of infidelity. OK, yes, the past year or so has been soap-operatic in some ways, but the one thing I can always count on is Tony's love.

And I fall asleep thinking of that, in my punk rock shirt and white panties.


	17. Foul

After the others leave, I'm not too happy being left alone with Kathleen. I just want to study for the exam, not argue all night.

Then she says, "Listen, I'm sorry about earlier. Let's go in the order of slides you planned."

I don't know what to say. I mean, I appreciate her giving in, but it would've been a lot more meaningful if she had said that when the other people were here. But it's late and I just want to get as much studying in as I can till Angela gets home. Then I'll probably kick Kathleen out.

I'm lucky Angela's not usually the jealous type. (Well, she got jealous over me dancing with Betty that one time, but with reason.) Most wives probably would not want to come home and find their husbands sitting in the dark with a cute blonde coed, even if the coed is a little totally obnoxious.

"OK, great," I say. "Let me just take a quick bathroom break and we can continue."

"Sure."

All that coffee is getting to me. It's keeping me awake but I've got to pee like a racehorse. I use the downstairs bathroom.

The phone rings twice and then stops. Maybe it was a wrong number. They're calling kind of late. If it was Angela or Mrs. Ferguson, they would've let it ring longer.

When I go back to the living room, Kathleen says, "I hope you don't mind that I answered your phone. I thought it might be my roommate checking to see when I'm coming home."

"Uh, no, that's OK." I guess it's OK. I mean, it's a little weird to answer someone's phone without asking first, but I guess that makes sense. "Who was it?"

"Your wife."

"My wife?" And she couldn't wait the couple minutes for me to get out of the can?

"Yes, she said that things were running late at the studio and one of the guys invited her to stay over."

"Stay over?" In New York? In his apartment? OK, don't jump to conclusions, Micelli. Maybe he's got a really huge place. Maybe he lives with his mother.

"Yes. She didn't want to bother you when you're studying all night."  
"Well, um, that was thoughtful." I don't want to study all night if it's just with Kathleen! I want Angie to come home. I want to sleep curled against her back, my nose buried in her hair that smells like sunshine, my arms wrapped around her chest and her stomach. That was what I missed most when I had to sleep flat on my back because of my shoulder.

"Yes. Should we continue?"

"Yeah, right, OK." I don't know how I can focus on art now, but I'll try.

I turn down the lights and then sit down on the other end of the couch from her. And, well, when I arranged the slides, I did have a plan. But it was a plan for five people. Not for me and this strange girl. What am I doing alone in the house, in the dark, with her, looking at artwork like Rodin's _The Kiss_?

"Kathleen, I gotta be honest here, I don't feel comfortable."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, come on, a man and a woman alone, looking at nudes?"

"I didn't expect you to be such a prude, Tony."

I snort. "Me, a prude?"

"This is art, Tony. It's not just naked bodies. And I think it's really sexist of you to assume that just because I'm a woman that this situation is suddenly fraught with sexual tension."

"Sexual tension? Lady, I don't even like you!"

There's a stunned silence. I can't believe I've said something so rude, even if I don't actually like her. Then she bursts into tears!

"Um, I don't hate you or anything."

Sobbing, she says, "No, I know, no one likes me!"

"Hey, come on, Billy Tate likes you."

"He just thinks I'm cute."

"Well, you are cute. I mean, speaking in the abstract."

"It's always been like this, traveling from place to place as an Army brat. I've never found it easy to make friends, and I know I try too hard and I come off as arrogant, but I'm really very insecure."

"You just need to relax. Be yourself. Well, a less know-it-all self."

She laughs. "Thanks." Then she sighs and shakes her head. "I don't know. Maybe I'm not ready for college. Maybe I should drop out."

"You don't want to do that. And then what? Work as a waitress for the rest of your life? I mean, it's a necessary job. And my dad drives a garbage truck and I've been a housekeeper, so it's not that I look down on waitresses. But you're a bright girl. You could be anything you want."

She shakes her head. "With my people skills? I don't think so."

"You could always work on Wall Street."

That makes her laugh again. "Well, thanks."

"Look, Kathleen, I don't pretend to have all the answers. I used to think I knew exactly what my life was. I had a wife and a job, both of which I loved. And then I lost both of them. First my wife, but then I met Angela. And now the job, and I'm still trying to figure out what's next, but college can help me find my new self. I just don't think you should miss the opportunity to experience all you can while you're young and—"

"Tony, would you like to go to bed?"

I'm about to say, "Well, I am pretty beat. Maybe we should call it a night and meet up with everyone tomorrow." And then I realize what she's just offered. "With you?"

"I mean, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I feel like we've got a real connection now and I thought—"

"Wow, you are really un-goddamn-believable!"

"Come on, Tony, it's the '70s, relax. And if your wife can spend the night with a couple guys—"

"A couple guys?"

"Well, yes, she actually said that they both invited her to stay over."

"Then that proves it's innocent. Besides, it's Angela. I know her. I trust her. And she trusts me. And believe me, if I were ever stupid enough to cheat on her, you would be my last choice."

She gets to her feet. "OK, fine, I'm going. I thought you were a nice guy, but I was clearly wrong."  
"Wow, Kathleen Sawyer actually admits she's wrong! God, I wish I had witnesses."

God takes me a little too literally, because at that moment Mona comes through the kitchen door and asks, "So how's the skull session? Got to anything in a fig leaf yet?"


	18. Bonus Baby

"Dear, what are you wearing?"

I look down at the T-shirt I changed back into on the commuter train. "Mother, I had a very unusual night."  
"You're not the only one."  
"Mother, I don't particularly want to hear about your date with Mr. Jackson."  
"Hey, you know he's pretty spry for 73."  
"I'm happy for you." I really wish she wouldn't fool around with my next-door neighbor, but then if Sam's grandfathers are fair game, not to mention Tony's best friend, I can't really impose any limits on her, can I?  
"Actually, I meant Tony's unusual night."

I feel a chill go through me but as calmly as I can I say, "Oh?"

"Yes, I left Jackson's place around 12:30 and I thought I'd drop in and see how the study group was going."

I want to tease her that she was probably hoping to see slides of nudes, but I can't joke right now. "And how was it going?"

"Not too well. Most of the kids had gone home and Tony was arguing with the girl who'd stayed."

"Oh?" I don't know if that's good or bad. I mean, I don't want Tony to fight of course, but on the other hand, I don't want him to have got along too well with Kathleen, if that's the girl Mother means.

"Yes. And not about art."

"I see. Um, what were they arguing about?"

"I think you'd better ask him about that. Unless you'd like to tell me who the two men were you spent the night with."

"I didn't spend the night with them! Well, I stayed at the studio late. But it was for my account with Encanto Records."

"Ah, that sort of explains the T-shirt, Ms. Blade."

"Yes. But I told Kathleen—Oh! She must've misled Tony." I knew I couldn't trust her!

"I thought it was too juicy gossip to be believed. I told myself, _Innocent bigamy, sure, my daughter's capable of that. But double adultery? Naah_."

"Mother, this isn't funny. What were Tony and Kathleen arguing about?"

"About whether he'd sleep with her."

No, no!

"He was taking the con position you'll be pleased to hear."

"Do you think something happened with them?"

"Something?"

"Like kissing. Something that would make her think he'd sleep with her."

"Well, I didn't hear the whole argument. But he said she'd be the last woman on earth he'd sleep with, or something like that."

I let out a sigh of relief. It sounds like he didn't even kiss her.

"Like I said, get the full story from him. If Old Man Jackson hadn't been such a slow starter, I might've been able to eavesdrop longer."

"Thank you, Mother. I think you heard enough."

We get home soon after that and I'm of course eager to talk to Tony, but to my surprise he's sitting in the kitchen having coffee with Isabel.

We all greet each other and then Mother says, "I'm sure I'm missing another unusual story, but I've got a follow-up date with Old Man Jackson."

"Look out for his trick knee, Mona," Isabel says.

"Thanks, Doc," Mother says and leaves.

I stare at Isabel, who says, "What? Now that I'm in medical school, everyone's always asking me for free advice."

I glance at Tony and then say, "Everyone?"

"Well, in Tony's case I'm asking for advice."  
"You're asking Tony for advice?"

"Hey, I know stuff," he says defensively.

"That's not what I mean." It's just Isabel is my best friend. She hardly knows Tony. Well, maybe it's advice about cooking. No, I know that's not fair. He can be very insightful.

She looks at me more closely and says, "Um, Angela, that's an interesting T-shirt. Have you been going to punk concerts?"

"Oh, yes, I'm been slam-dancing and everything."

They both laugh but kindly.

"She's handling a music account. I'm guessing this is a freebie."

"Yes." I want to explain about last night, and find out about his night, but I don't want to ignore Isabel of course. "Can I ask what you want Tony's advice about?"

"Well, don't tell Wendy, but I'm pregnant."

Now I really stare at her.

"Don't look so shocked. Ben and I do still have sex, you know. Mostly make-up sex, with the way we've been fighting this past year."

"Is it, I mean, do you want, I mean—"

"No, it's not planned but, yes, I want it."  
I'm not sure what to say. I'd never expect a med student in her late 20s to have an "accident," especially someone as sensible as Isabel. But I guess it could happen to any woman. "Does Ben want another baby?"

She sighs. "We always talked about having another child. And David is three now so it seems like good spacing."

I carefully don't look at Tony. We'd initially talked about leap-year children. Sam in '72, Jonathan in '76, the new baby in '80. And then that evolved into an '80s baby, not necessarily right away. Obviously, with our career setbacks, we've indefinitely postponed those vague plans. Still, there are times I consider going ahead with the plan to go off the Pill on New Year's. But this is mid-December now. We're going to have to decide soon, or continue to not decide to decide.

"The thing is, Ben wants me to quit med school. Well, he's wanted that since I started, but now with a new baby coming, he really wants it. And I understand. It's not going to be easy to juggle the pregnancy or the baby while I'm in the program. We have a wonderful maid but she's not exactly going to be able to do the morning sickness or the nursing for me."

"Or the labor," I murmur. I feel a mixture of jealousy and anxiety. Could I handle this as calmly as Isabel if I were pregnant ahead of schedule?

"Right. And medical school is four years. I'll be only halfway through when the baby's born. Do I quit and go back when the children are older?"

"Don't quit," Tony says quickly. "I told you, I think if you quit school, any kind of school, it's harder to go back later. And maybe you and Ben can make this work. If it was me and Angela—" He glances at me. "We'd both do what we could to make it work."

"Yes, but you and Angela are a team. You're not like some couples." Poor Isabel, usually so cool and rational, looks like she's going to cry.

"OK, if Ben won't help, then we'll be your team."

I blink. "What?"

"Angela's your best friend and she'll offer moral support. And I can change diapers."

"You'll come over in the middle of the night and look after my baby?"

"No, not in the middle of the night. But I could help out during the day. And if you bottle-feed the kid, then I could do that."

"Tony, that's very sweet, but I can't ask that of you. You're going to be just as busy with your own education. Not to mention your own children. And the children at the daycare and—"

"What if Tony was your part-time nanny? Or the male equivalent?"

"Manny?" she says with a smile.

"Well, uh, you sure?" he says, looking at both of us.

"You could look after Jonathan at home, or at Isabel's. And I could pay for the campus daycare when you're in class or busying studying." I try not to think about last night's study group. "The agency is making more money now. And Jonathan and David are friends, so it'd give them more chance to see each other. And I have the feeling you're wonderful with babies." I try not to think about how I want a baby with him. Ours can be postponed. And Isabel's will be sort of practice.

"Sounds good to me. And I think I can convince Ben that it'll be a tax write-off."

Tony shakes his head. "First I'm a maid and now I'm a governess."

Isabel and I both laugh. She asks, "Is that a no?"

"Uh, that's an 'I think I need more time to think about this.' "

"That's fine. The baby's not due till July."

"Oh, a summer baby!" I always wanted a summer baby. Well, I have Sam but I didn't know her as a baby.

Isabel smiles. "Yes, which is perfect because school will be out."

I shake my head. She really is too practical. I know people think that of me, but I have my dreamy, romantic side, too. Well, I'm sure she'll make a wonderful doctor.

Then something occurs to me. "Why don't you want me to tell Wendy? She's going to find out sooner or later."

"Yes, but you know what Wendy's like, obsessed with sex. She'll want to hear all about the conception. I'm putting off telling her as long as possible. Like you tried to do with your secret Vegas wedding."

I blush a little and smile at Tony, who smiles back.

Isabel laughs. "And then after she found out, she kept speculating that you two did it on your wedding night but were too drunk to know. She was sort of disappointed that you weren't pregnant."

That is not how I would've wanted to conceive! Although, imagine, if I had, Tony and I could have a five-and-a-half-month-old now. Oh dear, Isabel's pregnancy really is awakening my baby cravings. I have to remind myself that this is not a good time for us to have a baby. I don't think it's a great time for Isabel and Ben either, but that's up to them.

It will be nice to sort of have a baby in the house though, the hours that Tony looks after Isabel's baby, if he does. Oh, I hope he does! I know, what woman in history has ever nudged her husband to help raise another woman's child?

"Well, thank you both, whatever you decide."

I say, "Of course, Isabel. And call me later if Ben is resistant."

"Ben is always resistant. But thank you."

After she leaves, Tony shakes his head and puts her coffee cup in the sink. "Why would anyone want to be with someone, let alone have kids with them, when they don't get along?"

"Maybe she hopes it'll save their marriage." I know there was a moment when I considered it with Michael, but fortunately he was in India at the time.

"I thought she was smarter than that."

"Well, Isabel likes challenges. Obviously."

"Yeah. Unlike you, who picked the easy way with me."

I go over to him. "Loving you is easy. It's everything surrounding us that's hard."

"You ain't kiddin'!"

We both laugh, although his Speech professor would be disgusted. I know that we will talk out what happened last night, but it can wait till after the kids are asleep. And maybe we'll revisit the baby topic. Or maybe we'll practice with Isabel's baby—and I can change diapers, too, well, probably more than Ben will anyway—and see how that goes.

"Do you think the '80s will be as full of surprises as the '70s have been?" Tony asks.

"I don't see how that's possible."

He laughs again and then takes me in his arms and kisses me for a very long time, or at least long enough for Sam and Jonathan to interrupt and demand dinner.

...

"Just this T-shirt and white panties, huh?"

"Yes, let me show you."

THE END FOR NOW


End file.
